REEDOM 


FIUME 

TRENTIMO 

DALMATIA 

MONTENEGRO 

ALBANIA 


BY  E.  ALEXANDER  POWELL 

THE  NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 
THE  ARMY  BEHIND  THE  ARMY 
THE  LAST  FRONTIER 
GENTLEMEN  ROVERS 
THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL 
FIGHTING  IN  FLANDERS 
THE  ROAD  TO  GLORY 
VIVE  LA  FRANCE  ! 
ITALY  AT  WAR 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


THE  NEW  FRONTIERS 
OF  FREEDOM 


THE  QUEEN  OF  RUMANIA  TELLS  MAJOR  POWELL  THAT  SHE  ENJOYS 
BEING  A  QUEEN 


The  New  Frontiers 
of  Freedom 

FROM  THE  ALPS  TO  THE  AEGEAN 

EY 
E.  ALEXANDER  POWELL 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1920 


COPYRIGHT,  1920,  BY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  April,  1920 


TO   A   REAL   AND   LIFELONG    FRIEND 

MAJOR    J.    STANLEY    MOORE 

OF  THE    DEPARTMENT   OF    STATE 


41 $4 99 


AN  ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

Owing  to  the  disturbed  conditions  which 
prevailed  throughout  most  of  southeastern 
Europe  during  the  summer  and  autumn  of 
1919,  the  journey  recorded  in  the  following 
pages  could  not  have  been  taken  had  it 
not  been  for  the  active  cooperation  of  the 
Governments  through  whose  territories  we 
traveled  and  the  assistance  afforded  by  their 
officials  and  by  the  officers  of  their  armies  and 
navies,  to  say  nothing  of  the  hospitality  shown 
us  by  American  diplomatic  and  consular  repre- 
sentatives, relief-workers  and  others.  From 
the  Alps  to  the  ^Egean,  in  Italy,  Dalmatia, 
Montenegro,  Albania,  Macedonia,  Turkey, 
Rumania,  Hungary  and  Serbia  we  met  with  uni- 
versal courtesy  and  kindness. 

For  the  innumerable  courtesies  which  we 
were  shown  in  Italy  and  the  regions  under  Ital- 
ian occupation  I  am  indebted  to  His  Excellency 
Francisco  Nitti,  Prime  Minister  of  Italy,  and 


Vll 


viii        AN  ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

to  former  Premier  Orlando,  to  General 
Armando  Diaz,  Commander-in-Chief  of  the 
Italian  Armies;  to  Lieutenant-General  Albricci, 
Minister  of  War;  to  Admiral  Thaon  di  Revel, 
Minister  of  Marine;  to  Vice-Admiral  Count 
Enrice  Millo,  Governor-General  of  Dalmatia; 
to  Lieutenant-General  Piacentini,  Governor- 
General  of  Albania,  to  Lieutenant-General 
Montanari,  commanding  the  Italian  troops  in 
Dalmatia;  to  Rear-Admiral  Wenceslao  Piazza, 
commanding  the  Italian  forces  in  the  Curzo- 
lane  Islands;  to  Lieutenant-Colonel  Antonio 
Chiesa,  commanding  the  Italian  troops  in 
Montenegro ;  to  Colonel  Aldo  Aymonino,  Cap- 
tain Marchese  Piero  Ricci  and  Captain  Ernesto 
Tron  of  the  Comando  Supremo,  the  last-named 
being  our  companion  and  cicerone  on  a  motor- 
journey  of  nearly  three  thousand  miles;  to  Cap- 
tain Roggieri  of  the  Royal  Italian  Navy,  Chief 
of  Staff  to  the  Governor-General  of  Dalmatia ; 
to  Captain  Amedeo  Acton,  commanding  the 
"Filiberto";  to  Captain  Fausto  M.  Leva,  com- 
manding the  "Dandolo";  to  Captain  Giulio 
Menin,  commanding  the  "Puglia,"  and  to  Cap- 
tain Filipopo,  commanding  the  "Ardente,"  all 
of  whom  entertained  us  with  the  hospitality  so 


AN  ACKNOWLEDGMENT          ix 

characteristic  of  the  Italian  Navy;  to  Lieuten- 
ant Giuseppe  Castruccio,  our  cicerone  in  Rome 
and  my  companion  on  dirigible  and  airplane 
flights;  to  Lieutenant  Bartolomeo  Poggi  and 
Engineer-Captain  Alexander  Ceccarelli,  respec- 
tively commander  and  chief  engineer  of  the 
destroyer  "Sirio,"  both  of  whom,  by  their  un- 
failing thoughtfulness  and  courtesy  added  im- 
measurably to  the  interest  and  enjoyment  of 
our  voyage  down  the  Adriatic  from  Fiume  to 
Valona ;  to  Lieutenant  Pellegrini  di  Tondo,  our 
companion  on  the  long  journey  by  motor  across 
Albania  and  Macedonia;  to  Lieutenant  Mor- 
purgo,  who  showed  us  many  kindnesses  during 
our  stay  in  Salonika ;  to  Baron  San  Martino  of 
the  Italian  Peace  Delegation;  to  Lieutenant 
Stroppa-Quaglia,  attache  of  the  Italian  Peace 
Delegation,  and,  above  all  else,  to  those  valued 
friends,  Cavaliere  Giuseppe  Brambilla,  Coun- 
selor of  the  Italian  Embassy  in  Washington; 
Major-General  Gugliemotti,  Military  Attache, 
and  Professor  Vittorio  Falorsi,  formerly  Secre- 
tary of  the  Embassy  at  Washington,  to  each 
of  whom  I  am  indebted  for  countless  kind- 
nesses. No  list  of  those  to  whom  I  am  in- 
debted would  be  complete,  however,  unless  it 


x  AN  ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

included  the  name  of  my  valued  and  lamented 
friend,  the  late  Count  V.  Macchi  di  Cellere, 
Italian  Ambassador  to  the  United  States, 
whose  memory  I  shall  never  forget. 

I  welcome  this  opportunity  of  expressing  our 
appreciation  of  the  hospitality  shown  us  by 
their  Majesties  King  Ferdinand  and  Queen 
Marie  of  Rumania,  who  entertained  us  at  their 
Castle  of  Pelesch,  and  of  acknowledging  my 
indebtedness  to  His  Excellency  M.  Bratianu, 
Prime  Minister  of  Rumania,  and  to  M.  Con- 
stantinescu,  Rumanian  Minister  of  Commerce. 

I  am  profoundly  appreciative  of  the  honor 
shown  me  by  His  Majesty  King  Nicholas  of 
Montenegro,  and  my  grateful  thanks  are  also 
due  to  His  Excellency  General  A.  Gvosdeno- 
vitch,  Aide-de-Camp  to  the  King  and  former 
Minister  of  Montenegro  to  the  United  States. 

For  the  trouble  to  which  they  put  themselves 
in  facilitating  my  visit  to  Jugoslavia  I  am 
deeply  grateful  to  His  Excellency  M.  Grouitch, 
Minister  from  the  Kingdom  of  the  Serbs, 
Croats  and  Slovenes  to  the  United  States,  and 
to  His  Excellency  M.  Vesnitch,  the  Jugoslav 
Minister  to  France. 

From  the  long  list  of  our  own  country-people 


AN  ACKNOWLEDGMENT         xi 

abroad  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  hospital- 
ity and  kindness,  I  wish  particularly  to  thank 
the  Honorable  Thomas  Nelson  Page,  formerly 
American  Ambassador  to  Italy;  the  Honorable 
Percival  Dodge,  American  Minister  to  the 
Kingdom  of  the  Serbs,  Croats  and  Slovenes; 
the  Honorable  Gabriel  Bie  Ravndal,  American 
Commissioner  and  Consul-General  in  Constan- 
tinople; the  Honorable  Francis  B.  Keene, 
American  Consul-General  in  Rome;  Colonel 
Halsey  Yates,  U.  S.  A.,  American  Military 
Attache  at  Bucharest;  Lieutenant-Colonel  L. 
G.  Ament,  U.  S.  A.,  Director  of  the  American 
Relief  Administration  in  Rumania,  who  was 
our  host  during  our  stay  in  Bucharest,  as  was 
Major  Carey  of  the  American  Red  Cross  dur- 
ing our  visit  in  Salonika;  Dr.  Frances  Flood, 
Director  of  the  American  Red  Cross  Hospital 
in  Monastir,  and  Mrs.  Mary  Halsey  Moran, 
in  charge  of  American  relief  work  in  Con- 
stantza,  in  whose  hospitable  homes  we  found 
a  warm  welcome  during  our  stays  in  those 
cities;  Reverend  and  Mrs.  Phineas  Kennedy  of 
Koritza,  Albania;  Dr.  Henry  King,  President 
of  Oberlin  College,  and  Charles  R.  Crane, 
Esquire,  of  the  Commission  on  Mandates  in  the 


xii         AN  ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

Near  East;  Dr.  Fisher,  Professor  of  Modern 
History  at  Robert  College,  Constantinople; 
and  finally  of  three  friends  in  Rome,  Mr. 
Cortese,  representative  in  Italy  of  the  Asso- 
ciated Press;  Dr.  Webb,  founder  and  director 
of  the  hospital  for  facial  wounds  at  Udine;  and 
Nelson  Gay,  Esquire,  the  celebrated  historian, 
all  three  of  whom  shamefully  neglected  their 
personal  affairs  in  order  to  give  me  suggestions 
and  assistance. 

To  all  of  those  named  above,  and  to  many 
others  who  are  not  named,  I  am  deeply  grate- 
ful. 

E.  ALEXANDER  POWELL. 

Yokohama,  Japan, 
February,  1920. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

AN  ACKNOWLEDGMENT vii 

I    ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS    ...  i 

II     THE  BORDERLAND  OF  SLAV  AND  LATIN.  56 

III  THE  CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES  .      .  no 

IV  UNDER  THE  CROSS  AND  THE  CRESCENT.  155 

V    WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  OF  EUROPE  RE- 
COVER?       176 

VI    WHAT  THE  PEACE-MAKERS  HAVE  DONE 

ON  THE  DANUBE 206 

VII    MAKING  A  NATION  TO  ORDER     .     ,     .  243 


Xlll 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  Queen  of  Rumania  tells  Major  Powell  that  she  enjoys 

being  a  Queen Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

His  first  sight  of  the  Terra  Irridenta 12 

The  end  of  the  day 20 

A  little  mother  of  the  Tyrol 20 

Italy's  new  frontier 28 

This  is  not  Venice,  as  you  might  suppose,  but  Trieste    .      .  46 

At  the  gates  of  Fiume 60 

The   inhabitants  of  Fiume   cheering   d'Annunzio   and    his 

raiders 78 

His  Majesty  Nicholas  I,  King  of  Montenegro      ....  124 

Two  conspirators  of  Antivari 130 

The  head  men  of  Ljaskoviki,  Albania,  waiting  to  bid  Major 

and  Mrs.  Powell  farewell 142 

The  ancient  walls  of  Salonika 158 

Yildiz  Kiosk,  the  favorite  palace  of  Abdul-Hamid  and  his 

successors  on  the  throne  of  Osman 194 

The  Red  Badge  of  Mercy  in  the  Balkans 208 

The  gypsy  who  demanded  five  lei  for  the  privilege  of  taking 

her  picture 234 

A  peasant  of  Old  Serbia 234 

King  Ferdinand  tells  Mrs.  Powell  his  opinion  of  the  fashion 

in  which  the  Peace  Conference  treated  Rumania       .      .  240 

The  wine-shop  which  is  pointed  out  to  visitors  as  "the 

Cradle  of  the  War" 252 

xv 


THE  NEW  FRONTIERS 
OF  FREEDOM 


CHAPTER  I 
ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS 

IT  is  unwise,  generally  speaking,  to  write 
about  countries  and  peoples  when  they  are 
in  a  state  of  political  flux,  for  what  is  true  at 
the  moment  of  writing  may  be  misleading  the 
next.  But  the  conditions  which  prevailed  in 
the  lands  beyond  the  Adriatic  during  the  year 
succeeding  the  signing  of  the  Armistice  were 
so  extraordinary,  so  picturesque,  so  wholly 
without  parallel  in  European  history,  that  they 
form  a  sort  of  epilogue,  as  it  were,  to  the  story 
of  the  great  conflict.  To  have  witnessed  the 
dismemberment  of  an  empire  which  was  hoary 
with  antiquity  when  the  Republic  in  which  we 
live  was  yet  unborn;  to  have  seen  insignificant 
states  expand  almost  overnight  into  powerful 
nations;  to  have  seen  and  talked  with  peoples 
who  did  not  know  from  day  to  day  the  form  of 
government  under  which  they  were  living,  or 
the  name  of  their  ruler,  or  the  color  of  their 


2       NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

flag;  to  have  seen  millions  of  human  beings 
transferred  from  sovereignty  to  sovereignty 
liktr.  \attle  vvhich  have  been  sold — these  are 
sights  the  like  of  which  will  probably  not  be 
seen  again  in  our  times  or  in  those  of  our  chil- 
dren, and,  because  they  serve  to  illustrate  a 
chapter  of  History  which  is  of  immense  im- 
portance, I  have  tried  to  sketch  them,  in  brief, 
sharp  outline,  in  this  book. 

Because  I  was  curious  to  see  for  myself  how 
the  countrymen  of  Andreas  Hofer  in  South 
Tyrol  would  accept  their  enforced  Italianiza- 
tion;  whether  the  Italians  of  Fiume  would  obey 
the  dictum  of  President  Wilson  that  their  city 
must  be  Slav;  how  the  Turks  of  Smyrna  and 
the  Bulgarians  of  Thrace  would  welcome  Hel- 
lenic rule;  whether  the  Croats  and  Slovenes  and 
Bosnians  and  Montenegrins  were  content  to  re- 
main pasted  in  the  Jugoslav  stamp-album;  and 
because  I  wished  to  travel  through  these  dis- 
puted regions  while  the  conditions  and  problems 
thus  created  were  still  new,  we  set  out,  my  wife 
and  I,  at  about  the  time  the  Peace  Conference 
was  drawing  to  a  close,  on  a  journey,  made 
largely  by  motor-car  and  destroyer,  which  took 
us  from  the  Adige  to  the  Vardar  and  from  the 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS       3 

Vardar  to  the  Pruth,  along  more  than  five  thou- 
sand miles  of  those  new  national  boundaries — 
drawn  in  Paris  by  a  lawyer,  a  doctor  and  a 
college  professor — which  have  been  termed, 
with  undue  optimism  perhaps,  the  frontiers  of 
freedom. 

Some  of  the  things  which  I  shall  say  in  these 
pages  will  probably  give  offense  to  those  gov- 
ernments which  showed  us  many  courtesies. 
Those  who  are  privileged  to  speak  for  govern- 
ments are  fond  of  asserting  that  their  govern- 
ments have  nothing  to  conceal  and  that  they 
welcome  honest  criticism,  but  long  experience 
has  taught  me  that  when  they  are  told  unpalata- 
ble truths  governments  are  usually  as  sensitive 
and  resentful  as  friends.  Now  it  has  always 
seemed  to  me  that  a  writer  owes  his  first  allegi- 
ance to  his  readers.  To  misinform  them  by 
writing  only  half-truths  for  the  sake  of  retain- 
ing the  good-will  of  those  written  about  is  as 
unethical,  to  my  way  of  thinking,  as  it  is  for  a 
newspaper  to  suppress  facts  which  the  public  is 
entitled  to  know  in  order  not  to  offend  its  ad- 
vertisers. Were  I  to  show  my  appreciation  of 
the  many  kindnesses  which  we  received  from 
governments,  sovereigns  and  officials  by  re- 


4      NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

framing  from  unfavorable  comment  on  their 
actions  and  their  policies,  this  book  would  pos- 
sess about  as  much  intrinsic  value  as  those 
sumptuous  volumes  which  are  written  to  the 
order  of  certain  Latin-American  republics,  in 
which  the  authors  studiously  avoid  touching  on 
such  embarrassing  subjects  as  revolutions,  as- 
sassinations, earthquakes,  finances,  or  fevers  for 
fear  of  scaring  away  foreign  investors  or  de- 
preciating the  government  securities. 

It  is  entirely  possible  that  in  forming  some 
of  my  conclusions  I  was  unconsciously  biased 
by  the  hospitality  and  kindness  we  were  shown, 
for  it  is  human  nature  to  have  a  more  friendly 
feeling  for  the  man  who  invites  you  to  dinner 
or  sends  you  a  card  to  his  club  than  for  the 
man  who  ignores  your  existence;  it  is  probable 
that  I  not  infrequently  placed  the  wrong  inter- 
pretation on  what  I  saw  and  heard,  especially 
in  the  Balkans;  and,  in  those  cases  where  I 
have  rashly  ventured  to  indulge  in  prophecy, 
it  is  more  than  likely  that  future  events  will 
show  that  as  a  prophet  I  am  not  an  unqualified 
success.  In  spite  of  these  shortcomings,  how- 
ever, I  would  like  my  readers  to  believe  that 
I  have  made  a  conscientious  effort  to  place  be- 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS       5, 

fore  them,  in  the  following  pages,  a  plain  and 
unprejudiced  account  of  how  the  essays  in  map- 
making  of  the  lawyer,  the  doctor  and  the  col- 
lege professor  in  Paris  have  affected  the  peo- 
ples, problems  and  politics  of  that  vast  region 
which  stretches  from  the  Alps  to  the  ^Egean. 

The  Queen  of  the  Adriatic  never  looked 
more  radiantly  beautiful  than  on  the  July  morn- 
ing when,  from  the  landing-stage  in  front  of  the 
Danieli,  we  boarded  the  vapore  which,  after  an 
hour's  steaming  up  the  teeming  Guidecca  and 
across  the  outlying  lagoons,  set  us  down  at  the 
road-head,  on  the  mainland,  where  young  Cap- 
tain Tron,  of  the  Comando  Supremo,  was 
awaiting  us  with  a  big  gray  staff-car.  Captain 
Tron,  who  had  been  born  on  the  Riviera  and 
spoke  English  like  an  Oxonian,  had  been  aide- 
de-camp  to  the  Prince  of  Wales  during  that 
young  gentleman's  prolonged  stay  on  the  Italian 
front.  He  was  selected  by  the  Italian  High 
Command  to  accompany  us,  I  imagine,  because 
of  his  ability  to  give  intelligent  answers  to  every 
conceivable  sort  of  question,  his  tact,  and  his  un- 
failing discretion.  His  chief  weakness  was  his 
proclivity  for  road-burning,  in  which  he  was 
enthusiastically  abetted  by  our  Sicilian  chauffeur, 


6       NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

who,  before  attaining  to  the  dignity  of  driving 
a  staff-car,  had  spent  an  apprenticeship  of  two 
years  in  piloting  ammunition-laden  camions  over 
the  narrow  and  perilous  roads  which  led  to 
the  positions  held  by  the  Alpini  amid  the  higher 
peaks,  during  which  he  learned  to  save  his  tires 
and  his  brake-linings  by  taking  on  two  wheels 
instead  of   four  the   hairpin  mountain   turns. 
Now  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  travel  as  fast 
as  any  one,  if  necessity  demands  it,  but  to  tear 
through  a  region  as  beautiful  as  Venetia  at  sixty 
miles  an  hour,  with  the  incomparable  landscape 
whirling  past  in  a  confused  blur,  like  a  motion- 
picture  film  which  is  being  run  too  fast  because 
the  operator  is  in  a  hurry  to  get  home,  seems 
to  me  as  unintelligent  as  it  is  unnecessary.    Like 
all  Italian  drivers,  moreover,  our  chauffeur  in- 
sisted on  keeping  his  cut-out  wide  open,  thereby 
producing  a  racket  like  a  machine-gun,  which, 
though  it  gave  warning  of  our  approach  when 
we  were  still  a  mile  away,  made  any  attempt  at 
conversation,  save  by  shouting,  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. 

Because  I  wished  to  follow  Italy's  new  fron- 
tiers from  their  very  beginning,  at  that  point 
where  the  boundaries  of  Italy,  Austria  and 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS       7 

Switzerland  meet  near  the  Stelvio  Pass,  our 
course  from  Venice  lay  northwestward,  across 
the  dusty  plains  of  Venetia,  shimmering  in  the 
summer  heat,  the  low,  pleasant-looking  villas  of 
white  or  pink  or  sometimes  pale  blue  stucco, 
set  far  back  in  blazing  gardens,  peering  coyly 
out  at  us  from  between  the  ranks  of  stately 
cypresses  which  lined  the  highway,  like  daintily- 
gowned  girls  seeking  an  excuse  for  a  flirtation. 
Dotting  the  Venetian  plain  are  many  quaint  and 
charming  towns  of  whose  existence  the  tourist, 
traveling  by  train,  never  dreams,  their  massive 
walls,  sometimes  defended  by  moats  and  draw- 
bridges, bearing  mute  witness  to  this  region's 
stormy  and  romantic  past.  Towering  above 
the  red-tiled  roofs  of  each  of  these  Venetian 
plain-towns  is  its  slender  campanile,  and,  as 
each  campanile  is  of  distinctive  design,  it  serves 
as  a  landmark  by  which  the  town  can  be  identi- 
fied from  afar.  Through  the  narrow,  cobble- 
paved  streets  of  Vicenza  we  swept,  between 
rows  of  shops  opening  into  cool,  dim,  vaulted 
porticoes,  where  the  townspeople  can  lounge 
and  stroll  and  gossip  without  exposing  them- 
selves to  rain  or  sun;  through  Rovereto,  noted 
for  its  silk-culture  and  for  its  old,  old  houses, 


8      NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

superb  examples  of  the  domestic  architecture 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  with  faded  frescoes  on 
their  quaint  facades;  and  so  up  the  rather  mo- 
notonous and  uninteresting  valley  of  the  Adige 
until,  just  as  the  sun  was  sinking  behind  the 
Adamello,  whose  snowy  flanks  were  bathed  in 
the  rosy  Alpenglow,  we  came  roaring  into 
Trent,  the  capital  and  center  of  the  Trentino, 
which,  together  with  Trieste  and  its  adjacent 
territory,  composed  the  regions  commonly  re- 
ferred to  by  Italians  before  the  war  as  Italia 
Irredenta — Unredeemed  Italy. 

Rooms  had  been  reserved  for  us  at  the  Hotel 
Trento,  a  famous  tourist  hostelry  in  pre-war 
days,  which  had  been  used  as  headquarters  by 
the  field-marshal  commanding  the  Austrian 
forces  in  the  Trentino,  signs  of  its  military  oc- 
cupation being  visible  in  the  scratched  wood- 
work and  ruined  upholstery.  The  spurs  of  the 
Austrian  staff  officers  on  duty  in  Trent,  as 
Major  Rupert  Hughes  once  remarked  of  the 
American  staff  officers  on  duty  in  Washington, 
must  have  been  dripping  with  furniture  polish. 

Trent — or  Trento,  as  its  new  owners  call 
it — is  a  place  of  some  30,000  inhabitants,  built 
on  both  banks  of  the  Adige,  in  the  center  of 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS       9 

a  great  bowl-shaped  valley  which  is  completely 
hemmed  in  by  towering  mountain  walls.  In  the 
church  of  Santa  Maria  Maggiore  the  celebrated 
Council  of  Trent  sat  in  the  middle  of  the  six- 
teenth century  for  nearly  a  decade.  On  the 
eastern  side  of  the  town  rises  the  imposing  Cas- 
tello  del  Buon  Consiglio,  once  the  residence  of 
the  Prince-Bishops  but  now  a  barracks  for  Ital- 
ian soldiery. 

No  one  who  knows  Trent  can  question  the 
justice  of  Italy's  claims  to  the  city  and  to  the 
rich  valleys  surrounding  it,  for  the  history,  the 
traditions,  the  language,  the  architecture  and 
the  art  of  this  region  are  as  characteristically 
Italian  as  though  it  had  never  been  outside  the 
confines  of  the  kingdom.  The  system  of  mild 
and  fertile  Alpine  valleys  which  compose  the 
so-called  Trentino  have  an  area  of  about  4,000 
square  miles  and  support  a  population  of  380,- 
ooo  inhabitants,  of  whom  375,000,  according 
to  a  census  made  by  the  Austrians  themselves, 
are  Italian.  An  enclave  between  Lombardy  and 
Venetia,  a  rough  triangle  with  its  southern  apex 
at  the  head  of  the  Lake  of  Garda,  the  Trentino, 
originally  settled  by  Italian  colonists  who  went 
forth  as  early  as  the  time  of  the  Roman  Re- 


io    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

public,  was  for  centuries  an  independent  Italian 
prince-bishopric,  being  arbitrarily  annexed  to 
Austria  upon  the  fall  of  Napoleon.  In  spite 
of  the  tyrannical  and  oppressive  measures  pur- 
sued by  the  Austrian  authorities  in  their  at- 
tempts to  stamp  out  the  affection  of  the  Tren- 
tini  for  their  Italian  motherland,  in  spite  of  the 
systematic  attempts  to  Germanicize  the  region, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  was  an  offense  punish- 
able by  imprisonment  to  wear  the  Italian  colors, 
to  sing  the  Italian  national  hymn,  or  to  have 
certain  Italian  books  in  their  possession,  the 
poor  peasants  of  these  mountain  valleys  re- 
mained unswervingly  loyal  to  Italy  throughout 
a  century  of  persecution.  Little  did  the  thou- 
sands of  American  and  British  tourists  who 
were  wont  to  make  of  the  Trentino  a  summer 
playground,  climbing  its  mountains,  fishing  in 
its  rivers,  motoring  over  its  superb  highways, 
stopping  in  its  great  hotels,  realize  the  silent 
but  desperate  struggle  which  was  in  progress 
between  this  handful  of  Italian  exiles  and  the 
empire  of  the  Hapsburgs. 

The  attitude  of  the  Austrian  authorities  to- 
ward their  unwilling  subjects  of  the  Trentino 
was  characterized  by  a  vindictiveness  as  savage 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     n 

as  it  was  shortsighted.  Like  the  Germans  in 
Alsace,  they  made  the  mistake  of  thinking  that 
they  could  secure  the  loyalty  of  the  people  by 
awing  and  terrorizing  them,  whereas  these 
methods  had  the  effect  of  hardening  the  de- 
termination of  the  Trentini  to  rid  themselves 
of  Austrian  rule.  Caesare  Battisti  was  deputy 
from  Trent  to  the  parliament  in  Vienna.  When 
war  was  declared  he  escaped  from  Austria  and 
enlisted  in  the  Italian  army,  precisely  as  hun- 
dreds of  American  colonists  joined  the  Conti- 
nental Army  upon  the  outbreak  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. During  the  first  Austrian  offensive  he 
was  captured  and  sentenced  to  death,  being  ex- 
ecuted while  still  suffering  from  his  wounds. 
The  fact  that  the  rope  parted  twice  beneath  his 
weight  added  the  final  touch  to  the  brutality 
which  marked  every  stage  of  the  proceeding. 
The  execution  of  Battista  provided  a  striking 
object-lesson  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  Tren- 
tino  and  of  Italy — but  not  the  sort  of  object- 
lesson  which  the  Austrians  had  intended.  In- 
stead of  terrifying  them,  it  but  fired  them  in 
their  determination  to  end  that  sort  of  thing 
forever.  From  Lombardy  to  Siciliy  Battista 
was  acclaimed  a  hero  and  a  martyr;  photo- 


12     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

graphs  of  him  on  his  way  to  execution — an 
erect  and  dignified  figure,  a  dramatic  contrast 
to  the  shambling,  sullen-faced  soldiery  who  sur- 
rounded him — were  displayed  in  every  shop- 
window  in  the  kingdom;  all  over  Italy  streets 
and  parks  and  schools  were  named  to  perpetu- 
ate his  memory. 

Had  there  been  in  my  mind  a  shadow  of 
doubt  as  to  the  justice  of  Italy's  annexation 
of  the  Trentino,  it  would  have  been  dissipated 
when,  after  dinner,  we  stood  on  the  balcony  of 
the  hotel  in  the  moonlight,  looking  down  on 
the  great  crowd  which  filled  to  overflowing  the 
brilliantly  lighted  piazza.  A  military  band  was 
playing  Garibaldi's  Hymn  and  the  people  stood 
in  silence,  as  in  a  church,  the  faces  of  many  of 
them  wet  with  tears,  while  the  familiar  strains, 
forbidden  by  the  Austrian  under  penalty  of 
imprisonment,  rose  triumphantly  on  the  eve- 
ning air  to  be  echoed  by  the  encircling  moun- 
tains. At  last  the  exiles  had  come  home.  And 
from  his  marble  pedestal,  high  above  the  multi- 
tude, the  great  statue  of  Dante  looked  serenely 
out  across  the  valleys  and  the  mountains  which 
are  "unredeemed"  no  longer. 

Though  Italy's  original  claims  in  this  region, 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     13 

as  made  at  the  beginning  of  the  war,  included 
only  the  so-called  Trentino  (by  which  is  gener- 
ally meant  those  Italian-speaking  districts  which 
used  to  belong  to  the  bishopric  of  Trent)  to- 
gether with  those  parts  of  South  Tyrol  which 
are  in  population  overwhelmingly  Italian,  she 
has  since  demanded,  and  by  the  Peace  Confer- 
ence has  been  awarded,  the  territory  known  as 
the  upper  Adige,  which  comprises  all  the  dis- 
tricts lying  within  the  basin  of  the  Adige  and 
of  its  tributary,  the  Isarco,  including  the  cities 
of  Botzen  and  Meran.  By  the  annexation  of 
this  region  Italy  has  pushed  her  frontier  as  far 
north  as  the  Brenner,  thereby  bringing  within 
her  borders  upwards  of  180,000  German-speak- 
ing Tyrolese  who  have  never  been  Italian  in 
any  sense  and  who  bitterly  resent  being  trans- 
ferred, without  their  consent  and  without  a  ple- 
biscite, to  Italian  rule. 

The  Italians  defend  their  annexation  of  the 
Upper  Adige  by  asserting  that  Italy's  true 
northern  boundary,  in  the  words  of  Eugene  de 
Beauharnais,  written,  when  Viceroy  of  Italy, 
to  his  stepfather,  Napoleon,  "is  that  traced  by 
Nature  on  the  summits  of  the  mountains,  where 
the  waters  that  flow  into  the  Black  Sea  are  di- 


14    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

vided  from  those  that  flow  into  the  Adriatic." 
Viewed  from  a  purely  geographical  standpoint, 
Italy's  contention  that  the  great  semi-circular 
barrier  of  the  Alps  forms  a  natural  and  clearly 
defined  frontier,  separating  her  by  a  clean-cut 
line  from  the  countries  to  the  north,  is  unques- 
tionably a  sound  one.  Any  one  who  has  entered 
Italy  from  the  north  must  have  instinctively 
felt,  as  he  reached  the  summit  of  this  mighty 
mountain  wall  and  looked  down  on  the  warm 
and  fertile  slopes  sweeping  southward  to  the 
plains,  "Here  Italy  begins." 

Italy  further  justifies  her  annexation  of  the 
German-speaking  Upper  Adige  on  the  ground 
of  national  security.  She  must,  she  insists,  pos- 
sess henceforward  a  strong  and  easily  defended 
northern  frontier.  She  is  tired  of  crouching  in 
the  valleys  while  her  enemies  dominate  her  from 
the  mountain-tops.  Nor  do  I  blame  her.  Her 
whole  history  is  punctuated  by  raids  and  in- 
vasions launched  from  these  northern  heights. 
But  the  new  frontier,  in  the  words  of  former 
Premier  Orlando,  "can  be  defended  by  a  hand- 
ful of  men,  while  therefore  the  defense  of  the 
Trentino  salient  required  half  the  Italian  forces, 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     15 

the  other  half  being  constantly  threatened  with 
envelopment." 

As  I  have  already  pointed  out,  the  annexation 
of  the  Upper  Adige  means  the  passing  of  180,- 
ooo  German-speaking  Austrians  under  Italian 
sovereignty,  including  the  cities  of  Botzen  and 
Meran;  the  ancient  centers  of  German-Alpine 
culture,  Brixen  and  Sterzing;  of  Schloss  Tyrol, 
which  gives  the  whole  country  its  name;  and, 
above  all,  of  the  Parsier  valley,  the  home  of 
Andreas  Hofer,  whose  life  and  living  memory 
provide  the  same  inspiration  for  the  Germans 
of  Tyrol  that  the  exploits  and  traditions  of 
Garibaldi  do  for  the  Italians. 

That  Italy  is  not  insensible  to  the  perils  of 
bringing  within  her  borders  a  bloc  of  people 
who  are  not  and  never  will  be  Italian,  is  clearly 
shown  by  the  following  extract  from  an  Italian 
official  publication: 

"In  claiming  the  Upper  Adige,  Italy  does  not 
forget  that  the  highest  valleys  are  inhabited  by 
180,000  Germans,  a  residuum  from  the  immi- 
gration in  the  Middle  Ages.  It  is  not  a  prob- 
lem to  be  taken  light-heartedly,  but  it  is  im- 
possible for  Italy  to  limit  herself  only  to  the 
Trentino,  as  that  would  not  give  her  a  satis- 


1 6     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

factory  military  frontier.  From  that  point  of 
view,  the  basin  of  Bolzano  (Bozen)  is  as  strict- 
ly necessary  to  Italy  as  the  Rhine  is  to  France." 
No  one  has  been  more  zealous  in  the  cause 
of  Italy  than  I  have  been;  no  one  has  been 
more  whole-heartedly  with  the  Italians  in  their 
splendid  efforts  to  recover  the  lands  to  which 
they  are  justly  entitled ;  no  one  more  thoroughly 
realizes  the  agonies  of  apprehension  which  Italy 
has  suffered  from  the  insecurity  of  her  north- 
ern borders,  or  has  been  more  keenly  alive  to 
the  grim  but  silent  struggle  which  has  been 
waged  between  her  statesmen  and  her  soldiers 
as  to  whether  the  broad  statesmanship  which 
aims  at  international  good-feeling  and  abstract 
justice,  or  the  narrower  and  more  selfish  policy 
dictated  by  military  necessity,  should  govern  the 
delimitation  of  her  new  frontiers.  But,  because 
I  am  a  friend  of  Italy,  and  because  I  wish  her 
well,  I  view  with  grave  misgivings  the  wisdom 
of  thus  creating,  within  her  own  borders,  a  new 
terra  irredenta;  I  question  the  quality  of  states- 
manship which  insists  on  including  within  the 
Italian  body  politic  an  alien  and  irreconcilable 
minority  which  will  probably  always  be  a  latent 
source  of  trouble,  one  which  may,  as  the  result 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     17 

of  some  unforseen  irritation,  break  into  an 
open  sore.  It  would  seem  to  me  that 
Italy,  in  annexing  the  Upper  Adige,  is  storing 
up  for  herself  precisely  the  same  troubles  which 
Austria  did  when  she  held  against  their  will  the 
Italians  of  the  Trentino,  or  as  Germany  did 
when,  in  order  to  give  herself  a  strategic  fron- 
tier, she  annexed  Alsace  and  Lorraine.  When 
Italy  puts  forward  the  argument  that  she  must 
hold  everything  up  to  the  Brenner  because  of 
her  fear  of  invasion  by  the  puny  and  bankrupt 
little  state  which  is  all  that  is  left  of  the  Aus- 
trian Empire,  she  is  but  weakening  her  case. 
Her  soundest  excuse  for  the  annexation  of  this 
region  lies  in  her  fear  that  a  reconstituted  and 
revengeful  Germany  might  some  day  use  the 
Tyrol  as  a  gateway  through  which  to  launch 
new  armies  of  invasion  and  conquest.  But,  no 
matter  what  her  friends  may  think  of  the  wis- 
dom or  justice  of  Italy's  course,  her  annexation 
of  the  Upper  Adige  is  a  fait  accompli  which  is 
not  likely  to  be  undone.  Whether  it  will  prove 
an  act  of  wisdom  or  of  shortsightedness  only 
the  future  can  tell. 

The  transition  from  the  Italian  Trentino  to 
the  German  Tyrol  begins  a  few  miles  south  of 


1 8     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

Bozen.  Perhaps  "occurs"  would  be  a  more 
descriptive  word,  for  the  change  from  the  Lat- 
in to  the  Teutonic,  instead  of  being  gradual, 
as  one  would  expect,  is  almost  startling  in  its 
abruptness.  In  the  space  of  a  single  mile  or 
so  the  language  of  the  inhabitants  changes  from 
the  liquid  accents  of  the  Latin  to  the  deep- 
throated  gutturals  of  the  German;  the  road 
signs  and  those  on  the  shops  are  now  printed 
in  quaint  German  script;  via  becomes  weg> 
strada  becomes  strasse,  instead  of  responding 
to  your  salutation  with  a  smiling  "Bon  giorno" 
the  peasants  give  you  a  solemn  "Guten  morgen." 
Even  the  architecture  changes,  the  slender,  four- 
square campaniles  surmounted  by  bulging  By- 
zantine domes,  so  characteristic  of  the  Tren- 
tino,  giving  place  to  pointed  steeples  faced  with 
colored  slates  or  tiles.  On  the  German  side 
the  towns  are  better  kept,  the  houses  better 
built,  the  streets  wider  and  cleaner  than  in  the 
Italian  districts.  Instead  of  the  low,  white- 
walled,  red-tiled  dwellings  so  characteristic  of 
Italy,  the  houses  begin  to  assume  the  aspect 
of  Alpine  chalets,  with  carved  wooden  balconies 
and  steep-pitched  roofs  to  prevent  the  settling 
of  the  winter  snows.  The  plastered  fagades  of 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     19 

many  of  the  houses  are  decorated  with  gaudily 
colored  frescoes,  nearly  always  of  Biblical  char- 
acters or  scenes,  so  that  in  a  score  of  miles  the 
traveler  has  had  the  whole  story  of  the  Scrip- 
tures spread  before  him.  They  are  a  deeply 
religious  people,  these  Tyrolean  peasants,  as  is 
evidenced  not  only  by  the  many  handsome 
churches  and  the  character  of  the  wall-paintings 
on  the  houses,  but  by  the  amazing  frequency 
of  the  wayside  shrines,  most  of  which  consist 
of  representations  of  various  phases  of  the 
Crucifixion,  usually  carved  and  painted  with  a 
most  harrowing  fidelity  of  detail.  Occasionally 
we  encountered  groups  of  peasants  wearing  the 
picturesque  velvet  jackets,  tight  knee-breeches, 
heavy  woolen  stockings  and  beribboned  hats 
which  one  usually  associates  with  the  Tyrolean 
yodelers  who  still  inflict  themselves  on  vaude- 
ville audiences  in  the  United  States.  As  we 
sped  northward  the  landscape  changed  with  the 
inhabitants,  the  sunny  Italian  countryside, 
ablaze  with  flowers  and  green  with  vineyards, 
giving  way  to  solemn  forests,  gloomy  defiles, 
and  crags  surmounted  by  grim,  gray  castles 
which  reminded  me  of  the  stage-settings  for 
"Tannhiiuser"  and  "Lohengrin." 


20    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

Seen  from  the  summit  of  the  Mendel  Pass, 
the  road  from  Trent  to  Bozen  looks  like  a  lariat 
thrown  carelessly  upon  the  ground.  It  climbs 
laboriously  upward,  through  splendid  evergreen 
forests,  in  countless  curves  and  spirals,  loiters 
for  a  few-score  yards  beside  the  margin  of  a 
tiny  crystal  lake,  and  then,  refreshed,  plunges 
downward,  in  a  series  of  steep  white  zigzags, 
to  meet  the  Isarco,  in  whose  company  it  enters 
Bozen.  Because  the  car,  like  ourselves,  was 
thirsty,  we  stopped  at  the  summit  of  the  pass 
at  the  tiny  hamlet  of  Madonna  di  Campiglio — 
Our  Lady  of  the  Fields — for  water  and  for 
tea.  Should  you  have  occasion  to  go  that  way, 
I  hope  that  you  will  take  time  to  stop  at  the 
unpretentious  little  Hotel  Neumann.  It  is  the 
sort  of  Tyrolean  inn  which  had,  I  supposed, 
gone  out  of  existence  with  the  war.  The  inn- 
keeper, a  jovial,  white-whiskered  fellow,  such 
as  one  rarely  finds  off  the  musical  comedy  stage, 
served  us  with  tea — with  rum  in  it — and  hot 
bread  with  honey,  and  heaping  dishes  of  small 
wild  strawberries,  and  those  pastries  which  the 
Viennese  used  to  make  in  such  perfection. 
There  were  five  of  us,  including  the  chauffeur 
and  the  orderly,  and  for  the  food  which  we 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     21 

consumed  I  think  that  the  innkeeper  charged 
the  equivalent  of  a  dollar.  But,  as  he  explained 
apologetically,  the  war  had  raised  prices  ter- 
ribly. We  were  the  first  visitors,  it  seemed, 
barring  Austrians  and  a  few  Italian  officers, 
who  had  visited  his  inn  in  nearly  five  years. 
Both  of  his  sons  had  been  killed  in  the  war, 
he  told  us,  fighting  bravely  with  their  Jaeger 
battalion.  The  widow  of  one  of  his  sons — I 
saw  her ;  a  sweet-faced  Austrian  girl — with  her 
child,  had  come  to  live  with  him,  he  said.  Yes, 
he  was  an  old  man,  both  of  his  boys  were  dead, 
his  little  business  had  been  wrecked,  the  old 
Emperor  Franz-Joseph — yes,  we  could  see  his 
picture  over  the  fireplace  within — had  gone  and 
the  new  Emperor  Karl  was  in  exile,  in  Switzer- 
land, he  had  heard;  even  the  Empire  in  which 
he  had  lived,  boy  and  man,  for  seventy-odd 
years,  had  disappeared;  the  whole  world  was, 
indeed,  turned  upside  down — but,  Heaven  be 
praised,  he  had  a  little  grandson  who  would 
grow  up  to  carry  the  business  on. 

"How  do  you  feel,"  I  asked  the  old  man, 
"about  Italian  rule?" 

"They  are  not  our  own  people,"  he  answered 
slowly.  "Their  language  is  not  our  language 


22    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

and  their  ways  are  not  our  ways.  But  they  are 
not  an  unkind  nor  an  unjust  people  and  I  think 
that  they  mean  to  treat  us  fairly  and  well.  Aus- 
tria is  very  poor,  I  hear,  and  could  do  nothing 
for  us  if  she  would.  But  Italy  is  young  and 
strong  and  rich  and  the  officers  who  have 
stopped  here  tell  me  that  she  is  prepared  to  do 
much  to  help  us.  Who  knows?  Perhaps  it  is 
all  for  the  best." 

Immediately  beyond  Madonna  di  Campiglio 
the  highway  begins  its  descent  from  the  pass 
in  a  series  of  appallingly  sharp  turns.  Hardly 
had  we  settled  ourselves  in  the  tonneau  before 
the  Sicilian,  impatient  to  be  gone,  stepped  on 
the  accelerator  and  the  big  Lancia,  flinging  it- 
self over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  plunged  headlong 
for  the  first  of  these  hairpin  turns.  "Slow  up  1" 
I  shouted.  "Slow  up  or  you'll  have  us  over 
the  edge!"  As  the  driver's  only  response  to 
my  command  was  to  grin  at  us  reassuringly  over 
his  shoulder,  I  looked  about  for  a  soft  place 
to  land.  But  there  was  only  rock-plated  high- 
way whizzing  past  and  on  the  outside  the  road 
dropped  sheer  away  into  nothingness.  We  took 
the  first  turn  with  the  near-side  wheels  in  the 
gutter,  the  off-side  wheels  on  the  bank,  and  the 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     23 

car  tilted  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees.  The 
second  bend  we  navigated  at  an  angle  of  sixty 
degrees,  the  off-side  wheels  on  the  bank,  the 
near-side  wheels  pawing  thin  air.  Had  there 
been  another  bend  immediately  following  we 
should  have  accomplished  it  upside  down.  For- 
tunately there  were  no  more  for  the  moment, 
but  there  remained  the  village  street  of  Cles. 
We  pounced  upon  it  like  a  tiger  on  its  prey. 
Shrilling,  roaring  and  honking,  we  swooped 
through  the  ancient  town,  zigzagging  from  curb 
to  curb.  The  great-great-grandam  of  the  vil- 
lage was  tottering  across  the  street  when  the 
blast  of  the  Lancia's  siren  pierced  the  deafness 
of  a  century  and  she  sprang  for  the  sidewalk 
with  the  agility  of  a  young  gazelle.  We  missed 
her  by  half  an  inch,  but  at  the  next  corner  we 
had  better  luck  and  killed  a  chicken. 

Meran — the  Italians  have  changed  its  official 
name  to  Merano,  just  as  they  have  changed 
Trent  to  Trento,  and  Bozen  to  Bolzano — has 
always  appealed  to  me  as  one  of  the  most 
charming  and  restful  little  towns  in  Europe. 
The  last  time  I  had  been  there,  before  the  war- 
cloud  darkened  the  land,  its  streets  were  lined 
with  powerful  touring  cars  bearing  the  license- 


24    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

plates  of  half  the  countries  in  Europe,  bands 
played  in  the  parks,  the  shady  promenade  be- 
side the  river  was  crowded  with  pleasure-seek- 
ers, and  its  great  tourist  hostelries — there  were 
said  to  be  upwards  of  150  hotels  and  pensions 
in  the  town — were  gay  with  laughter  and  music. 
But  this  time  all  was  changed.  Most  of  the 
large  hotels  were  closed,  the  streets  were  de- 
serted, the  place  was  as  dismal  as  a  cemetery. 
It  reminded  me  of  a  beautiful  house  which  has 
been  closed  because  of  its  owner's  financial  re- 
verses, the  servants  discharged,  the  windows 
boarded  up,  the  furniture  swathed  in  linen  cov- 
ers, the  carpets  and  hangings  packed  away  in 
mothballs,  and  the  gardens  overrun  with  weeds. 
At  the  Hotel  Savoy,  where  rooms  had  been  re- 
served for  us,  it  was  necessary,  in  pre-war  days, 
to  wire  for  accommodations  a  fortnight  in  ad- 
vance of  your  arrival,  and  even  then  you  were 
not  always  able  to  get  rooms.  Yet  we  were 
the  only  visitors,  barring  a  handful  of  Italian 
commercial  travelers  and  the  Italian  governor- 
general  and  his  staff.  The  proprietor,  an  Aus- 
trian, told  me  that  in  the  four  years  of  war 
he  had  lost  $300,000,  and  that  he,  like  his  col- 
leagues, was  running  his  hotel  on  borrowed 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     25 

money.  Of  the  pre-war  visitors  to  Meran, 
eighty  per  cent,  had  been  Germans,  he  told  me, 
adding  that  he  could  see  no  prospect  of  the 
town's  regaining  its  former  prosperity  until  Ger- 
many is  on  her  financial  feet  again.  Personally, 
I  think  that  he  and  the  other  hoteliers  and 
business  men  with  whom  I  talked  in  Meran 
were  rather  more  pessimistic  than  the  situation 
warranted,  for,  if  Italy  will  have  the  foresight 
to  do  for  these  new  playgrounds  of  hers  in  the 
Alps  even  a  fraction  of  what  she  has  done  for 
her  resorts  on  the  Riviera,  and  in  Sicily,  and 
along  the  Neapolitan  littoral,  if  she  will  ad- 
vertise and  encourage  and  assist  them,  if  she 
will  maintain  their  superb  roads  and  improve 
their  railway  communications,  then  I  believe 
that  a  few  years,  a  very  few,  will  see  them 
thronged  by  even  greater  crowds  of  visitors 
than  before  the  war.  And  the  fact  that  in  the 
future  there  will  be  more  American,  English, 
French  and  Italian  visitors,  and  fewer  Germans, 
will  make  South  Tyrol  a  far  pleasanter  place  to 
travel  in. 

The  Italians  are  fully  alive  to  the  gravity 
of  the  problems  which  confront  them  in  at- 
tempting to  assimilate  a  body  of  people,  as 


26    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

courageous,  as  sturdily  independent,  and  as  te- 
nacious of  their  traditional  independence  as 
these  Tyrolean  mountaineers — descendants  of 
those  peasants,  remember,  who,  led  by  Andreas 
Hofer,  successfully  defied  the  dictates  of  Na- 
poleon. Though  I  think  that  she  is  going  about 
the  business  of  assimilating  these  unwilling  sub- 
jects with  tact  and  common  sense,  I  do  not  envy 
Italy  her  task.  Generally  speaking,  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  world  is  always  with  a  weak  people 
as  opposed  to  a  strong  one,  as  England  dis- 
covered when  she  attempted  to  impose  her  rule 
upon  the  Boers.  Once  let  the  Italian  adminis- 
tration of  the  Upper  Adige  permit  itself  to  be 
provoked  into  undue  harshness  (and  there  will 
be  ample  provocation;  be  certain  of  that)  ;  once 
let  an  impatient  and  over-zealous  governor-gen- 
eral attempt  to  bend  these  stubborn  mountain- 
eers too  abruptly  to  his  will;  let  the  local  Italian 
officials  provide  the  slightest  excuse  for  charges 
of  injustice  or  oppression,  and  Italy  will  have 
on  her  hands  in  Tyrol  far  graver  troubles  than 
those  brought  on  by  her  adventure  in  Tripoli- 
tania. 

Though  the  Government  has  announced  that 
Italian  must  become  the  official  language  of  the 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     27 

newly  acquired  region,  and  that  used  in  its 
schools,  no  attempt  will  be  made  to  root  out 
the  German  tongue  or  to  tamper  with  the  local 
usages  and  customs.  The  upper  valleys,  where 
German  is  spoken,  will  not,  however,  enjoy  any 
form  of  local  autonomy  which  would  tend  to 
set  their  inhabitants  apart  from  those  of  the 
lower  valleys,  for  it  is  realized  that  such  differ- 
ential treatment  would  only  serve  to  retard 
the  process  of  unification.  All  of  the  new  dis- 
tricts, German  and  Italian-speaking  alike,  will 
be  included  in  the  new  province  of  Trent.  It 
is  entirely  probable  that  Italy's  German-speak- 
ing subjects  of  the  present  generation  will 
prove,  if  not  actually  irreconcilable,  at  least 
mistrustful  and  resentful,  but,  by  adhering  to 
a  policy  of  patience,  sympathy,  generosity  and 
tact,  I  can  see  no  reason  why  the  next  genera- 
tion of  these  mountaineers  should  not  prove  as 
loyal  Italians  as  though  their  fathers  had  been 
born  under  the  cross  of  the  House  of  Savoy  in- 
stead of  under  the  double-eagle  of  the  Haps- 
burgs. 

We  crossed  the  Line  of  the  Armistice  into 
Austria  an  hour  or  so  beyond  Meran,  the  road 
being  barred  at  this  point  by  a  swinging  beam, 


28    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

made  from  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  which  could 
be  swung  aside  to  permit  the  passage  of  vehi- 
cles, like  the  bar  of  an  old-fashioned  country 
toll-gate.  Close  by  was  a  rude  shelter,  built  of 
logs,  which  provided  sleeping  quarters  for  the 
half-company  of  infantry  engaged  in  guarding 
the  pass.  One  has  only  to  cross  the  new  fron- 
tier to  understand  why  Italy  was  so  desperately 
insistent  on  a  strategic  rectification  of  her  north- 
ern boundary,  for  whereas,  before  the  war,  the 
frontier  ran  through  the  valleys,  leaving  the 
Austrians  atop  the  mountain  wall,  it  is  now  the 
Italians  who  are  astride  the  wall,  with  the  Aus- 
trians in  the  valleys  below. 

No  sooner  had  we  crossed  the  Line  of  the 
Armistice  than  we  noticed  an  abrupt  change  in 
the  attitude  of  the  population.  Even  in  the 
German-speaking  districts  of  the  Trentino  the 
inhabitants  with  whom  we  had  come  in  contact 
had  been  courteous  and  respectful,  though 
whether  this  was  because  of,  or  in  spite  of,  the 
fact  that  we  were  traveling  in  a  military  car, 
accompanied  by  a  staff-officer,  I  do  not  know. 
Now  that  we  were  actually  in  Austria,  however, 
this  atmosphere  of  seeming  friendliness  entirely 
disappeared,  the  men  staring  insolently  at  us 


ITALY'S   NEW  FRONTIER 
A  sharp  turn  on  the  highroad  over  the  Brenner  Pass 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     29 

from  under  scowling  brows,  while  the  women 
and  children,  who  had  less  to  fear  and  conse- 
quently were  bolder  in  expressing  their  feelings, 
frequently  shouted  uncomplimentary  epithets 
at  us  or  shook  their  fists  as  we  passed. 

Under  the  terms  of  the  Armistice,  Innsbruck, 
the  capital  of  Tyrol,  was  temporarily  occupied 
by  the  Italians,  who  sent  into  the  city  a  com- 
paratively small  force,  consisting  in  the  main  of 
Alpini  and  Bersaglieri.  Innsbruck  was  one  of 
the  proudest  cities  of  the  Austrian  Empire,  its 
inhabitants  being  noted  for  their  loyalty  to  the 
Hapsburgs,  yet  I  did  not  observe  the  slightest 
sign  of  resentment  toward  the  Italian  soldiers, 
who  strolled  the  streets  and  made  purchases  in 
the  shops  as  unconcernedly  as  though  they  were 
in  Milan  or  Rome.  The  Italians,  on  their  part, 
showed  the  most  marked  consideration  for  the 
sensibilities  of  the  population,  displaying  none 
of  the  hatred  and  contempt  for  their  former 
enemies  which  characterized  the  French  armies 
of  occupation  on  the  Rhine. 

We  found  that  rooms  had  been  reserved  for 
us  at  the  Tyroler  Hof,  before  the  war  one  of 
the  famous  tourist  hostelries  of  Europe,  half 
of  which  had  been  taken  over  by  the  Italian 


30    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

general  commanding  in  the  Innsbruck  district 
and  his  staff.  Food  was  desperately  scarce  in 
Innsbruck  when  we  were  there  and,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  courtesy  of  the  Italian  commander 
in  sending  us  in  dishes  from  his  mess,  we  would 
have  had  great  difficulty  in  getting  enough  to 
eat.  A  typical  dinner  at  the  Tyroler  Hof  in 
the  summer  of  1919  consisted  of  a  mud-colored, 
nauseous-looking  liquid  which  was  by  courtesy 
called  soup,  a  piece  of  fish  perhaps  four  times 
the  size  of  a  postage-stamp,  a  stew  which  was 
alleged  to  consist  of  rabbit  and  vegetables  but 
which,  from  its  taste  and  appearance,  might  con- 
tain almost  anything,  a  salad  made  of  beets  or 
watercress,  but  without  oil,  and  for  dessert  a 
dish  of  wild  berries,  which  are  abundant  in 
parts  of  Tyrol.  There  was  an  extra  charge 
for  a  small  cup  of  black  coffee,  so-called,  which 
was  made,  I  imagine,  from  acorns.  This,  of 
course,  was  at  the  best  and  highest-priced  hotels 
in  Innsbruck;  at  the  smaller  hotels  the  food  was 
correspondingly  scarcer  and  poorer. 

Though  the  inhabitants  of  the  rural  districts 
appeared  to  be  moderately  well  fed,  a  majority 
of  the  people  of  Innsbruck  were  manifestly  in 
urgent  need  of  food.  Some  of  them,  indeed, 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     31 

were  in  a  truly  pitable  condition,  with  emaci- 
ated bodies,  sunken  cheeks,  unhealthy  com- 
plexions, and  shabby,  badly  worn  clothes.  The 
meager  displays  in  the  shop-windows'  were  a 
pathetic  contrast  to  variety  and  abundance 
which  characterized  them  in  ante-bellum  days, 
the  only  articles  displayed  in  any  profusion  be- 
ing picture-postcards,  objects  carved  from  wood 
and  similar  souvenirs.  The  windows  of  the 
confectionery  and  bake-shops  were  particularly 
noticeable  for  the  paucity  of  their  contents.  I 
was  induced  to  enter  one  of  them  by  a  brave 
window  display  of  hand-decorated  candy  boxes, 
but,  upon  investigation,  it  proved  that  the  boxes 
were  empty  and  that  the  shop  had  had  no  candy 
for  four  years.  The  prices  of  necessities,  such 
as  food  and  clothing,  were  fantastic  (I  saw  ad- 
vertisements of  stout,  all-leather  boots  for  rent 
to  responsible  persons  by  the  day  or  week) ,  but 
articles  of  a  purely  luxurious  character  could  be 
had  for  almost  anything  one  was  willing  to  offer. 
In  one  shop  I  was  shown  German  field-glasses 
of  high  magnification  and  the  finest  makes  for 
ten  and  fifteen  dollars  a  pair.  The  local  jewel- 
ers were  driving  a  brisk  trade  with  the  Italian 
soldiers,  who  were  lavish  purchasers  of  Aus- 


32     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

trian  war  medals  and  decorations.  Captain 
Tron  bought  an  Iron  Cross  of  the  second  class 
for  the  equivalent  of  thirty  cents. 

We  left  Innsbruck  in  the  early  morning  with 
the  intention  of  spending  that  night  at  Cortina 
d'Ampezzo,  but,  owing  to  our  unfamiliarity 
with  the  roads  and  to  delays  due  to  tire  trou- 
ble, nightfall  found  us  lost  in  the  Dolomites. 
For  mile  after  mile  we  pushed  on  through  the 
darkness  along  the  narrow,  slippery  mountain 
roads,  searching  for  a  shelter  in  which  to  pass 
the  night.  Occasionally  the  twin  beams  from 
our  lamps  would  illumine  a  building  beside  the 
road  and  we,  chilled  and  hungry,  would  ex- 
claim "A  house  at  last!"  only  to  find,  upon 
drawing  nearer,  that,  though  it  had  evidently 
been  once  a  habitation,  it  was  now  but  a  shat- 
tered, blackened  shell,  a  grim  testimonial  to  the 
accuracy  of  Austrian  and  Italian  gunners.  It 
was  late  in  the  evening  and  bitterly  cold,  before, 
rounding  a  shoulder  of  the  mountain  up  whose 
steep  gradients  the  car  seemed  to  have  been 
panting  for  ages,  we  saw  in  the  distance  the 
welcome  lights  of  the  hamlet  of  Santa  Lucia. 

I  do  not  think  that  the  public  has  the  slight- 
est conception  of  the  widespread  destruction 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS    33 

and  misery  wrought  by  the  war  in  these  Alpine 
regions.  In  nearly  a  hundred  miles  of  motor- 
ing in  the  Cadore,  formerly  one  of  the  most 
delightful  summer  playgrounds  in  all  Europe, 
we  did  not  pass  a  single  building  with  a  whole 
roof  or  an  unshattered  wall.  The  hospitable 
wayside  inns,  the  quaint  villages,  the  pictur- 
esque peasant  cottages  which  the  tourist  in  this 
region  knew  and  loved  are  but  blackened  ruins 
now.  And  the  people  are  gone  too — refugees, 
no  doubt,  in  the  camps  which  the  Government 
has  erected  for  them  near  the  larger  towns. 
One  no  longer  hears  the  tinkle  of  cow-bells  on 
the  mountain  slopes,  peasants  no  longer  wave 
a  friendly  greeting  from  their  doors:  it  is  a 
stricken  and  deserted  land.  But  Cortina  d'Am- 
pezzo, which  is  the  cheflieu  of  the  Cadore, 
though  still  showing  many  traces  of  the  shell- 
storms  which  it  has  survived,  was  quickening 
into  life.  The  big  tourist  hotels  at  either  end 
of  the  town,  behind  which  the  Italians  emplaced 
their  heavy  guns,  were  being  refurnished  in 
anticipation  of  the  resumption  of  summer  travel 
and  the  little  shops  where  they  sell  souvenirs 
were  reopening,  one  by  one.  But  the  losses 
suffered  by  the  inhabitants  of  these  Alpine 


34    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

valleys,  desperately  serious  as  they  are  to  them, 
are,  after  all,  but  insignificant  when  compared 
with  the  enormous  havoc  wrought  by  the  ar- 
mies in  the  thickly  settled  Friuli  and  on  the  rich 
Venetian  plains.  Every  one  knows,  presumably, 
that  Italy  had  to  draw  more  heavily  upon  her 
resources  than  any  other  country  among  the 
Allies  (did  you  know  that  she  spent  in  the  war 
more  than  four-fifths  of  her  total  national 
wealth?)  and  that  she  is  bowed  down  under  an 
enormous  load  of  taxation  and  a  staggering 
burden  of  debt.  But  what  has  been  largely 
overlooked  is  that  she  is  faced  by  the  necessity 
of  rebuilding  a  vast  devasated  area,  in  which 
the  conditions  are  quite  as  serious,  the  need 
of  assistance  fully  as  urgent,  as  in  the  devas- 
tated regions  of  Belgium  and  France. 

Probably  you  were  not  aware  that  a  terri- 
tory of  some  three  and  a  half  million  acres, 
occupied  by  nearly  a  million  and  a  half  people, 
was  overrun  by  the  Austrians.  More  than  one- 
half  of  Venetia  is  comprised  in  that  region  ly- 
ing east  of  the  Piave  where  the  wave  of  Hun- 
nish  invasion  broke  with  its  greatest  fury.  The 
whole  of  Udine  and  Belluno,  and  parts  of  Tre- 
viso,  Vicenza  and  Venice  suffered  the  penalty 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     35 

of  standing  in  the  path  of  the  Hun.  They 
were  prosperous  provinces,  agriculturally  and 
industrially,  but  now  both  industry  and  agricul- 
ture are  almost  at  a  standstill,  for  their  fac- 
tories have  been  burned,  their  machinery 
wrecked  or  stolen,  their  livestock  driven  off  and 
their  vineyards  destroyed.  The  damage  done 
is  estimated  at  500  million  dollars.  It  is  un- 
necessary for  me  to  emphasize  the  seriousness 
of  the  problem  which  thus  confronts  the  Italian 
Government.  Not  only  must  it  provide  food 
and  shelter  for  the  homeless — a  problem  which 
it  has  solved  by  the  erection  of  great  numbers 
of  wooden  huts  somewhat  similar  to  the  bar- 
racks at  the  American  cantonments — but  a  great 
amount  of  livestock  and  machinery  must  be  sup- 
plied before  industry  can  be  resumed.  At  one 
period  there  was  such  desperate  need  of  fuel 
that  even  the  olive  trees,  one  of  the  region's 
chief  sources  of  revenue,  were  sacrificed.  The 
Italians  have  set  about  the  task  of  regenera- 
tion with  an  energy  that  discouragement  cannot 
check.  But  the  undertaking  is  more  than  Italy 
can  accomplish  unaided,  for  the  resources  of 
her  other  provinces  are  seriously  depleted.  We 
are  fond  of  talking  of  the  debt  we  owe  to  Italy, 


36    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

not  merely  for  her  sacrifices  in  the  war,  but  for 
all  that  she  has  given  us  in  art  and  music  and 
literature.  Now  is  the  time  to  show  our  grati- 
tude. 

From  Cortina,  which  is  Italian  now,  we 
swung  toward  the  north  again,  re-crossed  the 
Line  of  the  Armistice  at  Tarvis,  and,  just  as 
night  was  falling,  came  tearing  into  Villach, 
which,  like  Innsbruck,  was  occupied,  under  the 
terms  of  the  Armistice,  by  Italian  troops.  We 
had  great  difficulty  in  obtaining  rooms  in  Vil- 
lach, not  because  there  were  no  rooms  but  be- 
cause we  were  accompanied  by  an  Italian  of- 
ficer and  were  traveling  in  an  Italian  car.  The 
proprietors  of  five  hotels,  upon  seeing  Captain 
Tron's  uniform,  curtly  declared  that  every 
room  was  occupied.  It  was  nearly  midnight 
before  we  succeeded  in  finding  shelter  for  the 
night,  and  this  was  obtained  only  when  I  made 
it  amply  clear  to  the  Austrian  proprietor  of 
the  only  remaining  hotel  in  the  town  that  we 
were  not  Italians  but  Americans.  The  unpleas- 
ant impression  produced  by  the  coolness  of  our 
reception  in  Villach  was  materially  increased 
the  following  morning,  when  Captain  Tron 
greeted  us  with  the  news  that  all  of  our  lug- 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     37 

gage,  which  we  had  left  on  the  car,  had  been 
stolen.  It  seemed  that  thieves  had  broken  into 
the  courtyard  of  the  barracks,  where  the  car 
had  been  locked  up  for  the  night,  and,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  the  chauffeur  was  asleep  in  the 
tonneau,  had  stripped  it  of  everything,  includ- 
ing the  spare  tires.  I  learned  afterwards  that 
robberies  of  this  sort  had  become  so  common 
since  the  war  as  scarcely  to  provoke  comment, 
portions  of  Austria  being  terrorized  by  gangs 
of  demobilized  soldiers  who,  taking  advantage 
of  the  complete  demoralization  of  the  machin- 
ery of  government,  robbed  farmhouses  "and 
plundered  travelers  at  will.  It  is  much  the 
same  form  of  lawlessness,  I  imagine,  which 
manifested  itself  immediately  after  the  close 
of  the  Napoleonic  Wars,  when  bands  of  dis- 
charged soldiers  sought  in  robbery  the  excite- 
ment and  booty  which  they  had  formerly  found 
under  the  eagles.  Though  the  local  police  au- 
thorities attempted  to  condone  the  robbery  on 
the  ground  that  it  was  due  to  the  appalling 
poverty  of  the  population,  this  excuse  did  not 
reconcile  my  wife  to  the  loss  of  her  entire  ward- 
robe. As  she  remarked  vindictively,  she  felt 


38     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

certain  that  the   inhabitants   of  Villach   were 
called  Villains. 

I  wished  to  visit  Klagenfurt,  the  ancient  cap- 
ital of  Carinthia,  which  is  about  twenty  miles 
beyond  Villach,  because  at  that  time  the  town, 
which  is  a  railway  junction  of  considerable  stra- 
tegic and  commercial  importance,  threatened 
to  provide  the  cause  for  an  open  break  be- 
tween the  Jugoslavs  and  the  Italians.  Though 
the  Italians  did  not  demand  the  town  for  them- 
selves, they  had  vigorously  insisted  that,  instead 
of  being  awarded  to  Jugoslavia,  it  should  re- 
main Austrian,  for,  with  the  triangle  of  which 
Klagenfurt  is  the  center  in  the  possession  of 
the  Jugoslavs,  they  would  have  driven  a  wedge 
between  Italy  and  Austria  and  would  have  had 
under  their  control  the  immensely  important 
junction-point  where  the  main  trunk  line  from 
Venice  to  Vienna  is  joined  by  the  line  coming 
up  from  Fiume  and  Trieste.  The  Jugoslavs, 
recognizing  that  the  possession  of  Klagenfurt 
would  give  them  virtual  control  of  the  principal 
railway  entering  Austria  from  the  south,  and 
that  such  control  would  probably  enable  them 
to  divert  much  of  Austria's  traffic  from  the 
Italian  ports  of  Venice  and  Trieste  to  their  own 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS    39 

port  of  Fiume,  which  they  confidently  expected 
would  be  awarded  them  by  the  Peace  Confer- 
ence, lost  no  time  in  occupying  the  town  with 
a  considerable  force  of  troops.  They  further 
justified  this  occupation  by  asserting  that  Jugo- 
slavia was  entitled  to  Carinthia  on  ethnological 
grounds  and  that  the  inhabitants  of  Klagenfurt 
were  clamoring  for  Jugoslav  rule.  In  view  of 
these  developments,  I  had  expected  to  find  Jugo- 
slav soldiery  in  the  town,  but  I  had  not  expected 
to  be  challenged,  a  mile  or  so  outside  the  town, 
by  a  sentry  who  was,  judging  from  his  appear- 
ance, straight  from  a  comitadji  band  in  the  Ma- 
cedonian mountains.  He  was  a  sullen-faced 
fellow  wearing  a  fur  cap  and  a  nondescript  uni- 
form, with  an  assortment  of  weapons  thrust  in 
his  belt,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  Balkan 
guerillas,  and  with  two  bandoliers,  stuffed  with 
cartridges,  slung  across  his  chest.  He  was  as 
incongruous  a  figure  in  that  pleasant  German 
countryside  as  one  of  Pancho  Villa's  bandits 
would  have  been  in  the  Connecticut  Valley.  And 
Klagenfurt,  which  is  a  well-built,  well-paved, 
thoroughly  modern  Austrian  town,  was  occupied 
by  several  hundred  of  his  fellows,  brought 
from  somewhere  in  the  Balkans,  I  should  im- 


40    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

agine,  for  the  express  purpose  of  aweing  the 
population.  It  was  perfectly  apparent  that  the 
inhabitants,  far  from  welcoming  these  fierce- 
looking  fighters  as  brother-Slavs  and  friends, 
were  only  too  anxious  to  have  them  take  their 
departure,  having  about  as  much  in  common 
with  them,  in  appearance,  manners  and  speech, 
as  a  New  Englander  has  with  an  Apache  Indian. 
So  great  was  the  tension  existing  in  Klagenfurt 
that  a  commission  had  been  sent  by  the  Peace 
Conference  to  study  the  question  on  the  spot, 
its  members  communicating  with  the  Supreme 
Council  in  Paris  by  means  of  American  couriers, 
slim  young  fellows  in  khaki  who  wore  on  their 
arms  the  blue  brassard,  embroidered  with  the 
scales  of  justice,  which  was  the  badge  of  mes- 
sengers employed  by  the  Peace  Commission. 

A  few  miles  outside  of  Klagenfurt  my  atten- 
tion was  attracted  by  an  iron  paling,  in  a  field 
beside  the  road,  enclosing  a  gigantic  chair 
carved  from  stone.  My  curiosity  aroused,  I 
stopped  the  car  to  examine  it.  From  a  faded 
inscription  attached  to  the  gate  I  learned  that 
this  was  the  crowning  chair  of  the  Dukes  of 
Carinthia,  in  which  the  ancient  rulers  of  this 
region  had  sat  to  be  crowned.  There  it  stands 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS    41 

in  a  field  beside  the  highway,  neglected  and  for- 
gotten, a  curious  link  with  a  picturesque  and 
far-distant  past. 

Our  route  from  Klagenfurt  led  back  through 
Villach  to  Tarvis  and  thence  over  the  Predil 
Pass  to  the  Friuli  plain  and  Udine,  a  journey 
which  we  expected  to  accomplish  in  a  single 
day;  but  there  were  delays  in  re-crossing  the 
Line  of  the  Armistice  and  other  and  more  seri- 
ous delays  in  the  mountains,  caused  by  torrential 
rains  which  had  in  places  washed  out  the  road, 
so  that  it  was  already  nightfall  when,  emerging 
from  the  gloomy  defile  of  the  Predil  Pass,  we 
saw  before  us  the  twinkling  lights  of  the  Alpini 
cantonment  at  Caporetto,  that  mountain  hamlet 
of  black  memories  where,  in  the  summer  of 
1917,  the  Austro-German  armies,  aided  by  bad 
Italian  generalship  and  Italian  treachery, 
smashed  through  the  Italian  lines  and  forced 
them  back  in  a  headlong  retreat  which  was 
checked  only  by  the  heroic  stand  on  the  Piave. 
The  Caporetto  disaster  would  have  broken  the 
hearts  and  annihilated  the  resistance  of  a  less 
courageous  people  than  the  Italians.  Yet  the 
Italian  army,  shattered  and  disorganized  as  it 
was,  stopped  the  triumphant  progress  of  the 


42    'NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

invaders;  stopped  it  almost  without  artillery  or 
ammunition,  for  hundreds  of  guns  had  been 
abandoned  during  the  retreat;  stopped  it  with 
the  bodies  of  Italy's  youth,  the  boys  fresh  from 
the  training-camps,  the  class  of  1919,  called  to 
the  colors  two  years  before  their  time !  They 
stopped  that  victorious  rush  upon  the  line  of  the 
Piave,  a  broad,  shallow  stream  meandering 
through  a  flat  plain  with  never  a  height  to  com- 
mand the  enemy's  positions,  never  a  physical 
feature  of  the  terrain  to  satisfy  the  require- 
ments of  strategy.  Not  only  was  the  line  of 
the  Piave  held  by  the  Italians  against  the  ad- 
vice of  their  Allies,  but  it  was  held  in  defiance 
of  all  the  lessons  taught  by  Italian  history,  for 
that  the  Piave  could  not  be  successfully  defend- 
ed has  been  the  judgment  of  every  military 
leader  since  first  the  barbarians  began  to  sweep 
down  from  the  Alps  to  lay  waste  the  rich  Vene- 
tian plain.  The  Italians  made  their  heroic 
stand,  moreover,  without  any  help  from  their 
Allies.  That  help  came  later,  it  is  true,  but 
only  after  the  stand  had  been  made.  You  doubt 
this?  Then  read  this  extract  from  the  report 
of  General  the  Earl  of  Caven,  who  commanded 
the  Allied  troops  sent  to  the  aid  of  the  Italians : 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS    43 

"In  1917,  in  the  terrible  days  which  followed 
the  disaster  at  Caporetto,  I  saw,  just  after  my 
arrival  at  Venice,  the  Italian  army  in  full  re- 
treat, and  I  became  convinced  that  a  recovery 
was  impossible  before  the  arrival  of  sufficient 
reenforcement  from  France  and  England.  But 
I  was  deceived,  for  shortly  afterward  I  saw 
the  Italian  army,  which  had  seemed  to  be  in 
the  advanced  stages  of  an  utter  rout,  form  a 
solid  line  on  the  Piave  and  hold  it  with  miracu- 
lous persistence,  permitting  the  English  and 
French  reenforcements  to  take  up  the  positions 
assigned  to  them  without  once  coming  in  con- 
tact with  the  enemy." 

I  have  heard  it  said  by  critics  of  Italy  that 
the  retreat  from  Caporetto  showed  the  lack  of 
courage  of  the  Italian  soldier.  To  gauge  the 
courage  of  an  army  a  single  disaster  is  as  unjust 
as  it  is  unintelligent.  Was  the  rout  of  the  Fed- 
eral forces  at  Bull  Run  a  criterion  of  their  be- 
havior in  the  succeeding  years  of  the  Civil 
War?  Was  the  surrender  at  Sedan  a  true  in- 
dication of  the  fighting  ability  of  the  French 
soldier?  Every  nation  has  had  its  disasters 
and  has  had  to  live  them  down.  Italy  did  this 
when,  on  the  banks  of  Piave,  she  turned  her 


44    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

greatest  disaster  into  her  most  glorious  triumph. 
Because  it  was  my  privilege  to  be  with  the 
Italian  army  in  the  field  during  various  periods 
of  the  war,  and  because  I  know  at  first-hand 
whereof  I  speak,  I  regret  and  resent  the  dis- 
paragement of  the  Italian  soldier  which  has 
been  so  freely  indulged  in  since  the  Armistice. 
It  may  be,  of  course,  that  you  do  not  fully  real- 
ize the  magnitude  of  Italy's  sacrifices  and 
achievements.  Did  you  know,  for  example, 
that  Italy  held  a  front  longer  than  the  British, 
Belgian,  French  and  American  fronts  put  to- 
gether? Did  you  know  that  out  of  a  popula- 
tion of  37  millions  she  put  into  the  field  an  army 
of  5  million  men,  whereas  France  and  her  col- 
onies, with  nearly  double  the  population,  was 
never  able  to  raise  more  than  5,064,000,  a  con- 
siderable proportion  of  which  were  black  and 
brown  men?  Did  you  know  that  in  forty-one 
months  of  war  Italy  lost  541,000  in  dead  and 
953,000  in  wounded,  and  that,  unlike  France 
and  England,  her  armies  were  composed  wholly 
of  white  men?  Did  you  know  that,  in  spite  of 
all  that  has  been  said  about  the  Allies  giving 
her  assistance,  Italy  at  all  times  had  more  troops 
on  the  Western  front  than  the  Allies  had  on  the 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS    45 

Italian?  Did  you  know  that  she  called  up  the 
class  of  1919  two  years  before  their  time,  a 
measure  which  even  France,  hard-pressed  as  she 
was,  did  not  feel  justified  in  taking?  (I  have 
mentioned  this  before,  but  it  will  bear  repeti- 
tion.) Have  you  stopped  to  think  that  she  was 
the  only  one  of  the  Allied  nations  which  won  a 
clean-cut  and  decisive  victory,  when,  on  the  Pi- 
ave,  she  attacked  with  5 1  divisions  an  Austro- 
German  army  of  63  divisions,  completely 
smashed  it,  forced  its  surrender,  and  captured 
half  a  million  prisoners?  Did  you  know  tKat 
she  lost  more  than  fifty-seven  per  cent,  of  her 
merchant  tonnage,  while  England  lost  less  than 
forty-three  per  cent,  and  France  less  than  forty 
per  cent.  ?  And,  finally,  had  you  realized  that 
Italy  made  greater  sacrifices,  in  proportion  to 
her  resources  and  population,  than  any  other 
country  engaged  in  the  war,  having  devoted 
four-fifths  of  her  entire  national  wealth  to  the 
prosecution  of  the  struggle?  There  is  your  an- 
swer, chapter  and  verse,  for  the  next  man  who 
sneeringly  remarks,  "The  Italians  didn't  do 
much,  did  they?" 

Just  as  the  Trentino  and  the  Upper  Adige 
have  been  added  to  the  kingdom  as  the  Prov- 


46    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

ince  of  Trent,  so  the  redeemed  regions  of 
which  Trieste  is  the  center,  including  the  towns 
of  Gorizia,  Monfalcone,  Capodistria,  Parenzo, 
Pirano,  Rovigno  and  Pola,  have  been  consoli- 
dated in  the  new  province  of  Julian  Venetia, 
with  about  a  million  inhabitants  and  an  area  of 
approximately  6,000  square  miles. 

Trieste,  which,  with  its  suburbs,  has  a  popu- 
lation of  not  far  from  400,000,  with  its  splen- 
did terminal  facilities,  its  vast  harbor-works, 
its  dry-docks  and  foundries,  its  railway  commu- 
nications with  the  hinterland,  and,  above  all 
else,  its  position  as  the  natural  outlet  for  the 
trade  of  Austria,  Bavaria  and  Czecho-Slovakia, 
constitutes  not  only  Italy's  most  valuable  prize 
of  war,  but,  everything  considered,  probably 
the  most  important  city,  commercially  at  least, 
to  change  hands  as  a  result  of  the  conflict.  Curi- 
ously enough,  Trieste  is  the  least  interesting  city 
of  its  size,  from  a  visitor's  point  of  view,  that 
I  know.  Venice  always  reminds  me  of  a  beau- 
tiful and  charmingly  gowned  woman,  perpetu- 
ally young,  interested  in  art,  in  music,  in  liter- 
ature, always  ready  for  a  stroll,  a  dance  or  a 
flirtation.  Trieste,  on  the  contrary,  is  a  busy, 
preoccupied,  rather  brusque  business  man, 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     47 

wholly  self-made,  who  has  never  devoted  much 
time  to  devote  to  pleasure  because  he  has  been 
too  busy  making  his  fortune.  Venice  says,  "If 
you  want  a  good  time,  let  me  show  you  how  to 
spend  your  money."  But  Trieste  growls,  "If 
you  want  to  get  rich,  let  me  show  you  how  to 
invest  your  money."  The  city  has  broad  and 
well-kept  streets  bordered  by  the  same  sort  of 
four-  and  five-  and  six-story  buildings  of  brick 
and  stone  which  you  find  in  any  European  com- 
mercial city;  it  has  several  unusually  spacious 
piazzas  on  which  front  some  really  pretentious 
buildings;  it  has  a  few  arches  and  doorways 
dating  from  the  Roman  period,  though  far  bet- 
ter ones  can  be  found  in  almost  any  town  on 
the  Italian  peninsula;  on  the  hill  commanding 
the  city  there  are  an  old  Austrian  fort  and  an 
ancient  church,  both  chiefly  interesting  for  the 
views  they  command  of  the  harbor  and  the 
coast  of  Istria;  some  of  the  most  abominably 
rough  pavements  which  I  have  ever  encountered 
in  any  city;  one  hotel  which  just  escapes  being 
excellent  and  several  which  do  not  escape  be- 
ing bad;  and  a  harbor,  together  with  the 
wharves  and  moles  and  machinery  which  go 
with  it,  which  is  the  Triestino's  pride  and  joy. 


48     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

To  my  way  of  thinking  the  most  interesting 
sight  in  Trieste  is  a  small  chateau,  built  in  the 
castellated  fashion  which  had  a  considerable 
vogue  in  America  shortly  after  the  close  of  the 
Civil  War,  which  stands  amid  most  beautiful 
gardens  on  the  edge  of  the  sea,  two  or  three 
miles  to  the  west  of  the  city.  This  is  the  Cha- 
teau of  Miramar,  formerly  the  residence  of  the 
young  Austrian  Archduke  Maximilian,  who, 
dazzled  by  the  dream  of  life  on  an  imperial 
throne,  accepted  an  invitation  to  become  Em- 
peror of  Mexico  and  a  few  years  later  fell  be- 
fore a  Mexican  firing-party  on  the  slopes  of 
Queretaro.  Though  the  chateau  has  now  passed 
into  the  possession  of  the  Italian  Government  it 
is  still  in  charge  of  the  aged  custodian  who,  as 
a  youth,  was  body-servant  to  Maximilian.  Bar- 
ring the  fact  that  the  paintings  and  certain 
pieces  of  furniture  had  been  removed  to  Vienna 
to  save  from  injury  by  aerial  bombardment,  the 
interior  of  the  chateau  is  much  as  Maximilian 
left  it  when  he  set  out  with  his  bride,  Carlotta, 
the  sister  of  the  late  King  Leopold  of  the  Bel- 
gians, on  his  ill-fated  adventure.  In  the  study 
on  the  ground  floor  hangs  a  photograph,  still 
sharp  and  clear  after  the  lapse  of  half  a  cen- 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS    49 

tury,  of  the  members  of  the  delegation — 
swarthy  men  in  the  high  cravats  and  long  frock- 
coats  of  the  period,  some  of  them  wearing  the 
stars  and  sashes  of  orders — who  came  to  Mira- 
mar  to  offer  Maximilian  the  Mexican  crown. 
The  old  custodian  told  me  that  he  witnessed  the 
scene  and  he  pointed  out  to  me  where  his  young 
master  and  the  other  actors  in  this,  the  first  act 
of  the  tragedy,  stood.  How  little  could  the 
youthful  Emperor  have  dreamed,  as  he  set  sail 
for  those  distant  shores,  that  the  day  would 
come  when  the  Dual  Monarchy  would  go  down 
in  ruins,  when  the  ancient  dynasty  of  the  Haps- 
burgs  would  come  to  an  inglorious  end,  and 
when  the  garden  paths  where  he  and  his  beau- 
tiful young  bride  used  to  saunter  in  the  moon- 
light would  be  paced  by  Italian  carabineers. 

If  you  will  get  out  the  atlas  and  turn  to  the 
map  of  Italy  you  will  notice  at  the  head  of  the 
Adriatic  a  peninsula  shaped  like  the  head  of  an 
Indian  arrow,  its  tip  aimed  toward  the  unpro- 
tected flank  of  Italy's  eastern  coast.  This 
arrow-shaped  peninsula  is  Istria.  In  the  West- 
ern notch  of  the  arrowhead,  toward  Italy,  is 
Trieste — terminus  of  the  railway  to  Vienna.  In 
the  opposite  notch  is  Fiume — terminus  of  the 


50     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

railway  which  runs  across  Croatia  and  Hungary 
to  Budapest.  And  at  the  very  tip  of  the  arrow, 
as  though  it  had  been  ground  to  a  deadly  sharp- 
ness, is  Pola,  formerly  Austria's  greatest  naval 
base.  Dotting  the  western  coast  of  Istria,  be- 
tween Trieste  and  Pola,  are  four  small  towns — 
Parenzo,  Pirano,  Capodistria  and  Rovigno — - 
all  purely  and  distinctively  Italian,  and,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  peninsula,  the  famous  resort 
of  Abbazia,  popular  with  wealthy  Hungarians 
and  with  the  yachtsmen  of  all  nations  before 
the  war. 

Parenzo,  Pirano,  Capodistria  and  Rovigno 
were  all  outposts  of  the  Venetian  Republic, 
forming  an  outer  line  of  defense  against  the 
Slav  barbarians  of  the  interior.  Everything 
about  them  speaks  of  Venice :  the  snarling  Lion 
of  St.  Mark  which  is  carved  above  their  gates 
and  surmounts  the  marble  columns  in  their  pi- 
azzas; their  old,  old  churches — the  one  at  Pa- 
renzo was  built  in  the  sixth  century,  being  cop- 
ied after  the  famous  basilica  at  Ravenna, 
across  the  Adriatic — the  interiors  of  many  of 
them  adorned,  like  that  of  St.  Mark's  in  Ven- 
ice, with  superb  mosaics  of  gold  and  semi- 
precious stones;  the  carved  lions'  heads,  bocca 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     51 

del  leone,  for  receiving  secret  missives ;  the  deli- 
cate tracery  above  the  doors  and  windows  of 
the  palazzos,  and  all  those  other  architectural 
features  so  characteristic  of  the  City  of  the 
Doges.  There  is  no  questioning  what  these  Is- 
trian  coast-towns  were  or  are.  They  are  as 
Italian  to-day  as  when,  a  thousand  years  ago, 
they  formed  a  part  of  Venice's  far-flung  skir- 
mish line.  But  penetrate  even  a  single  mile  into 
the  interior  of  the  peninsula  and  you  find  a 
wholly  different  race  from  these  Latins  of  the 
littoral,  a  different  architecture  (if  architecture 
can  be  applied  to  square  huts  built  of  sun-dried 
bricks)  and  a  different  tongue.  These  people 
are  the  Croats,  a  hardy,  industrious  agricultural 
people,  generally  illiterate,  at  least  as  I  found 
them  in  Istria,  and  with  few  of  the  comforts 
and  none  of  the  culture  which  characterized  the 
Latin  communities  on  the  coast.  In  short,  the 
towns  of  the  western  coast  are  undeniably  Ital- 
ian; the  rest  of  the  peninsula  is  solidly  Slav. 

The  interior  of  Istria  consists,  in  the  main, 
of  a  barren,  monotonous  and  peculiarly  unlovely 
limestone  plateau  known  as  the  Karst,  a  con- 
tinuation of  that  waterless  and  treeless  ridge, 
called  by  Italians  the  Carso,  which  stretches 


52     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

from  Trieste  northwestward  to  Goritzia  and 
beyond.  With  the  exception  of  the  Bukovica 
of  Dalmatia  and  the  lava-beds  of  southern 
Utah,  the  Tstrian  Karst  is  the  most  utterly  Hope- 
less region,  from  the  standpoint  of  agriculture, 
that  I  know.  It  is  dotted  with  many  small  farm- 
steads, it  is  true,  but  one  marvels  at  the  courage 
and  patience  which  their  peasant  owners  dis- 
played in  their  unequal  struggle  with  Nature. 
The  rocky  surface  is  covered  with  a  stunted, 
discouraged-looking  vegetation  which  reminded 
me  of  that  clothing  the  flanks  of  the  mountains 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  Roosevelt  Dam,  in  Ari- 
zona, and  here  and  there  are  vast  rolling  moors, 
uninhabited  by  man  or  animal,  as  desolate,  mys- 
terious and  repelling  as  that  depicted  by  Sir 
Arthur  Conan  Doyle  in  The  Hound  of  the 
Baskervilles.  The  Karst,  like  the  Carso,  is 
dotted  with  curious  depressions  called  dolinas, 
some  of  them  as  much  as  100  feet  in  depth,  the 
floors  of  which,  varying  in  extent  from  a  few 
square  yards  to  several  acres,  are  covered  with 
soil  which  is  as  rich  as  the  surface  of  the  sur- 
rounding plateau  is  worthless.  Because  of  the 
fertility  of  these  singular  depressions,  and  their 
immunity  from  the  cold  winds  which  in  winter 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     53 

sweep  the  surface  of  the  Karst,  they  are  utilized 
by  the  peasants  for  growing  fruits,  vegetables 
and,  in  some  cases,  small  patches  of  grain,  be- 
ing, in  effect,  sunken  gardens  provided  by  Na- 
ture as  though  to  recompense  the  Istrians,  in 
some  measure,  for  their  discouraging  struggle 
for  existence. 

Just  behind  the  very  tip  of  the  peninsula,  on 
the  edge  of  a  superb  natural  harbor,  the  en- 
trance to  which  is  masked  by  the  Brioni  Islands, 
is  the  great  naval  base  of  Pola,  from  the  shelter 
of  whose  fortifications  and  mined  approaches 
the  Austrian  fleet  was  able  to  terrorize  the  de- 
fenseless towns  along  Italy's  unprotected  east- 
ern seaboard  and  to  menace  the  commerce  of 
the  northern  Adriatic.  Pola  is  a  strange  me- 
lange of  the  ancient  and  the  modern,  for  from 
the  topmost  tiers  of  the  great  Roman  Arena — 
scarcely  less  imposing  than  the  Coliseum  at 
Rome — we  looked  down  upon  a  harbor  dotted 
with  the  fighting  monsters  of  the  Italian  navy, 
while  all  day  long  Italian  seaplanes  swooped 
and  circled  over  the  splendid  arch,  erected  by 
a  Roman  emperor  in  the  dim  dawn  of  Euro- 
pean history,  to  commemorate  his  triumph  over 
the  barbarians. 


54     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

It  is  just  such  anomalies  as  these  that  make 
almost  impossible  the  solution,  on  a  basis  of 
strict  justice  to  the  inhabitants,  of  the  Adriatic 
problem.  Here  you  see  a  city  that,  in  history, 
in  population,  in  language,  is  as  characteristi- 
cally Italian  as  though  it  were  under  the  shadow 
of  the  Apennines,  yet  encircling  that  city  is  a 
countryside  whose  inhabitants  are  wholly  Slav, 
who  are  intensely  hostile  to  Italian  institutions, 
and  many  of  whom  have  no  knowledge  whatso- 
ever of  the  Italian  tongue.  The  Italians  claim 
that  Istria  should  be  theirs  because  of  the  un- 
doubted Latin  character  of  the  towns  along  its 
coasts,  because  their  Roman  and  Venetian  an- 
cestors established  their  outposts  here  long  cen- 
turies ago,  because  the  only  culture  that  the 
region  possesses  is  Italian,  and,  above  all  else, 
because  its  possession  is  essential  to  the  safety 
of  Italy  herself.  The  Slavs,  o*n  the  other  hand, 
lay  claim  to  Istria  on  the  ground  that  its  first 
inhabitants,  whether  barbarians  or  not,  were 
Slavs,  that  the  Italians  who  settled  on  its  shores 
were  but  filibusters  and  adventurers,  and  that 
its  inhabitants,  by  blood,  by  language,  and  by 
sentiment,  are  overwhelmingly  Slav  to-day.  The 
only  thing  on  which  both  races  agree  is  that  the 


ACROSS  THE  REDEEMED  LANDS     55 

peninsula  should  not  be  divided.  It  was  no  easy 
problem,  you  see,  which  the  peace-makers  were 
expected  to  solve  with  strict  justice  for  all.  If 
my  memory  serves  me  right,  King  Solomon  was 
once  called  upon  by  two  mothers  to  settle  a 
somewhat  similar  dispute,  though  in  that  case 
it  was  a  child  instead  of  a  country  whose  owner- 
ship was  in  question.  So,  though  both  Latins 
and  Slavs  may  continue  to  assert  their  rights  to 
the  peninsula  in  its  entirety,  I  imagine  that  the 
Istrian  problem  will  eventually  be  settled  by  the 
judgment  of  Solomon. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  BORDERLAND  OF  SLAV 
AND  LATIN 

IT  was  the  same  along  the  entire  line  of  the 
Armistice  from  the  Brenner  down  to  Istria. 
Whenever  the  officials  with  whom  we  talked 
heard  that  we  were  going  to  Fiume,  they  shook 
their  heads  pessimistically.  ult's  a  good  place 
to  stay  away  from  just  now,"  said  one.  "They 
won't  let  you  enter  the  city,"  another  warned 
us.  Or,  uYou  mustn't  think  of  taking  the 
signora  with  you."  But  the  representative  of 
an  American  oil  company  whom  I  met  in  the 
American  consulate  in  Trieste  regarded  the 
excursion  from  a  different  view-point  alto- 
gether. 

"Be  sure  to  stop  at  the  Europa,"  he  urged 
me.  "It's  right  on  the  water-front,  and  there 
isn't  a  better  place  in  the  city  to  see  what's  hap- 
pening. I  was  there  last  week  when  the  mob 

56 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  57 

attacked  the  French  Annamite  troops.  Believe 
me,  friend,  that  was  one  hellish  business  .  .  . 
they  literally  cut  those  poor  little  Chinks  into 
pieces.  I  saw  the  whole  thing  from  my  win- 
dow. I'm  going  back  to  Flume  to-morrow,  and 
if  you  like  I'll  tell  the  manager  of  the  Europa 
to  save  you  a  front  room." 

His  tone  was  that  of  a  New  Yorker  telling  a 
friend  from  up-State  that  he  would  reserve  him 
a  room  in  a  Fifth  Avenue  hotel  from  which  to 
view  a  parade. 

As  things  turned  out,  however,  we  did  not 
have  occasion  to  avail  ourselves  of  this  offer, 
for  we  found  that  rooms  had  been  reserved  for 
us  at  a  hotel  in  Abbazia,  just  across  the  bay 
from  Fiume.  This  arrangement  was  due  to 
the  Italian  military  governor,  General  Grazioli, 
who  was  perfectly  aware  that  the  inhabitants 
of  Fiume  were  not  hanging  out  any  "Welcome- 
to-Our-City"  signs  for  foreigners,  particularly 
for  foreigners  who  were  country  people  of 
President  Wilson,  and  that  the  fewer  Ameri- 
cans there  were  in  the  town  the  less  danger 
there  was  of  anti-American  demonstrations.  In 
view  of  what  had  happened  to  the  Annamites  I 
had  no  overpowering  desire  to  be  the  center  of 


58     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

a  similar  demonstration.  Pursuant  to  this  ar- 
rangement we  slept  in  a  great  barn  of  a  hotel 
whose  echoing  corridors  had,  in  happier  days, 
been  a  favorite  resort  of  the  wealth  and  fashion 
of  Hungary,  but  whose  once  costly  furniture 
had  been  sadly  dilapidated  by  the  spurred  boots 
of  the  Austrian  staff  officers  who  had  used  it  as 
a  headquarters;  in  the  mornings  we  had  our 
sugarless  coffee  and  butterless  war-bread  on  a 
lofty  balcony  commanding  a  superb  panorama 
of  the  Istrian  coast  from  Icici  to  Volosca  and 
of  the  island-studded  Bay  of  Quarnero,  and 
commuted  to  and  from  Fiume  in  the  big  gray 
Lancia  in  which  we  had  traveled  along  the  line 
of  the  Armistice  for  upward  of  2,000  miles. 

We  had  our  first  view  of  the  Unredeemed 
City  (though  it  was  really  not  my  first  view, 
as  I  had  been  there  before  the  war)  from  a 
curve  in  the  road  where  it  suddenly  emerges 
from  the  woods  of  evergreen  laurel  above  Vo- 
losca to  drop  in  steep  white  zigzags  to  the  sea. 
It  is  superbly  situated,  this  ancient  city  over 
whose  possession  Slav  and  Latin  are  growling 
at  each  other  like  dogs  over  a  disputed  bone. 
With  its  snowy  buildings  spread  on  the  slopes 
of  a  shallow  amphitheater  between  the  sapphire 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  59 

waters  of  the  Adriatic  and  the  barren  flanks  of 
the  Istrian  Karst,  it  suggested  a  lovely  siren, 
all  glistening  and  white,  who  had  emerged  from 
the  sea  to  lie  upon  the  bare  brown  breast  of  a 
mountain  giant. 

The  car,  with  its  exhaust  wide  open,  for  your 
Italian  driver  delights  in  noise,  roared  down 
the  grade  at  express-train  speed,  took  the  hair- 
pin curve  at  the  bottom  on  two  wheels,  to  be 
brought  to  an  abrupt  halt  with  an  agonized 
squealing  of  brakes,  our  further  progress  being 
barred  by  a  six-inch  tree-trunk  which  had  been 
lowered  across  the  road  like  a  barrier  at  an 
old-time  country  toll-gate.  At  one  side  of  the 
road  was  a  picket  of  Italian  carabinieri  in  field- 
gray  uniforms,  their  huge  cocked  hats  rendered 
a  shade  less  anachronistic  by  covers  of  gray 
linen,  with  carbines  slung  over  their  shoulders, 
hunter  fashion.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the 
highway  was  a  patrol  of  British  sailors  in  white 
drill  landing-kit,  their  rosy,  smiling  faces  in 
striking  contrast  to  the  saturnine  countenances 
of  the  Italians.  (I  might  explain,  parentheti- 
cally, that  Fiume,  being  in  theory  under  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  Peace  Conference,  was  at 
this  time  occupied  by  about  a  thousand  French 


60     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

troops,  the  same  number  of  British,  a  few  score 
American  blue-jackets,  and  nearly  10,000 
Italians.)  The  sergeant  in  command  of  the 
carabinieri  stepped  up  to  the  car,  saluted,  and 
curtly  asked  for  our  papers.  I  produced  them. 
Among  them  was  a  pass  authorizing  us  to  go 
when  and  where  we  pleased  in  the  territory  oc- 
cupied by  the  Italian  forces.  It  had  been  given 
to  me  by  the  Minister  of  War  himself,  but  it 
made  about  as  much  impression  on  the  sergeant 
as  though  it  had  been  signed  by  Charlie 
Chaplin. 

"This  is  good  only  for  Italy,"  he  said.  "It 
will  not  take  you  across  the  line  of  the  Armi- 
stice." 

Thereupon  I  played  my  last  trump.  I  pro- 
duced an  imposing  document  which  had  been 
given  me  by  the  Italian  peace  delegation  in 
Paris.  It  had  originally  been  issued  by  the 
Orlando-Sonnino  cabinet,  but  upon  the  fall  of 
that  government  I  had  had  it  countersigned,  be- 
fore leaving  Rome,  by  the  Nitti  cabinet.  It 
was  addressed  to  all  the  military,  naval,  and 
civil  authorities  of  Italy,  and  was  so  flatteringly 
worded  that  it  would  have  satisfied  St.  Peter 
himself.  But  the  sergeant  was  not  in  the  least 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  61 

impressed.  He  read  it  through  deliberately, 
scrutinized  the  official  seals,  examined  the  wa- 
termark, and  then  disappeared  into  a  sentry- 
box  on  the  roadside.  I  could  hear  him  talking, 
evidently  over  a  telephone.  Presently  he 
emerged  and  signaled  to  his  men  to  raise  the 
barrier.  "Passo,"  he  said  grudgingly,  in  a  tone 
which  intimated  that  he  was  letting  us  enter  the 
jealously  guarded  portals  of  Fiume  against  his 
better  judgment,  the  bar  swung  upward,  the 
big  car  leaped  forward  like  a  race-horse  that 
feels  the  spur,  and  in  another  moment  we  were 
rolling  through  the  tree-arched,  stone-paved 
streets  of  the  most-talked-of  city  in  the  world. 
As  we  sped  down  the  Corsia  Deak  we  passed 
a  large  hotel  which,  as  was  quite  evident,  had 
recently  been  renamed,  fpr  the  words  "Albergo 
d'Annunzio"  were  fresh  and  staring.  But  un- 
derneath was  the  former  name,  which  had  been 
so  imperfectly  obliterated  that  it  could  still 
easily  be  deciphered.  It  was  "Hotel  Wilson." 
To  correctly  visualize  Fiume  you  must 
imagine  a  town  no  larger  than  Atlantic  City 
crowded  upon  a  narrow  shelf  between  a  tower- 
ing mountain  wall  and  the  sea;  a  town  with 
broad  and  moderately  clean  streets,  shaded, 


62     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

save  in  the  center  of  the  city,  by  double  rows 
of  stately  trees  and  paved  with  large  square 
flagstones  which  make  abominably  rough  rid- 
ing; a  town  with  several  fine  thoroughfares  bor- 
dered by  well-constructed  four-story  buildings 
of  brick  and  stone;  with  numerous  surprisingly 
well-stocked  shops;  with  miles  and  miles  of 
concrete  moles  and  wharfs,  equipped  with  har- 
bor machinery  of  the  most  modern  description, 
and  adjacent  to  them  rows  of  warehouses  as 
commodious  as  the  Bush  Terminals  in  Brook- 
lyn, and  rising  here  and  there  above  the  trees 
and  the  housetops,  like  fingers  pointing  to 
heaven,  the  graceful  campaniles  of  fine  old 
churches,  one  of  which,  the  cathedral,  was  al- 
ready old  when  the  Great  Navigator  turned  the 
prows  of  his  caravels  westward  from  Cadiz  in 
quest  of  this  land  we  live  in. 

Fiume  lacks  none  of  the  conditions  which 
make  a  great  seaport:  there  is  deep  water  and 
a  convenient  approach,  which  is  protected 
against  the  ocean  and  against  a  hostile  fleet  by 
the  islands  of  Veglia  and  Cherso  and  against 
the  north  winds  by  the  rocky  plateau  of  the 
Karst.  Yet,  despite  its  natural  advantages  and 
the  millions  which  were  spent  in  its  develop- 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  63 

ment  by  the  Hungarian  Government,  Fiume 
never  developed  into  a  port  of  the  size  and  im- 
portance which  the  foreign  commerce  of  Hun- 
gary would  have  seemed  to  require,  this  being 
largely  due  to  its  unfortunate  geographical  con- 
dition, for  the  dreary  and  inhospitable  Karst 
completely  shuts  the  city  off  from  the  interior, 
the  numerous  tunnels  and  steep  gradients  mak- 
ing rail  transport  by  this  route  difficult  and 
consequently  expensive. 

The  public  life  of  the  city  centers  in  the 
Piazza  Adamich,  a  broad  square  on  which  front 
numerous  hotels,  restaurants,  and  coffee- 
houses, before  which  lounge,  from  midmorning 
until  midnight,  a  considerable  proportion  of 
the  Italian  population,  sipping  cafe  nero,  or 
tall  drinks  concocted  from  sweet,  bright-colored 
syrups,  scanning  the  papers  and  discussing,  with 
much  noise  and  gesticulation,  the  political  situa- 
tion and  the  doings  of  the  peace  commissioners 
in  Paris.  Save  only  Barcelona,  Fiume  has  the 
most  excitable  and  irritable  population  of  any 
city  that  I  know.  When  we  were  there  street 
disturbances  were  as  frequent  as  dog-fights  used 
to  be  in  Constantinople  before  the  Turks  recog- 
nized that  the  best  gloves  are  made  from  dog- 


64     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

skins.  As  I  have  said,  a  few  days  before  our 
arrival  a  mob  had  attacked  and  killed  in  most 
barbarous  fashion  a  number  of  Annamite  sol- 
diers who  were  guarding  a  French  warehouse 
on  the  quay.  Several  prominent  Fumani  with 
whom  I  talked  attempted  to  justify  the  mas- 
sacre on  the  ground  that  a  French  sailor  had 
torn  a  ribbon  bearing  the  motto  "Italia  o 
Morte!"  from  the  breast  of  a  woman  of  the 
town.  They  did  not  seem  to  regret  the  affair 
or  to  realize  that  it  is  just  such  occurrences 
which  lead  the  Peace  Conference  to  question 
the  wisdom  of  subjecting  the  city's  Slav  min- 
ority to  that  sort  of  rule.  As  a  result  of  the 
tense  atmosphere  which  prevailed  in  the  city, 
the  nerves  of  the  population  were  so  on  edge 
that  when  my  car  back-fired  with  a  series  of 
violent  explosions,  the  loungers  in  front  of  a 
near-by  cafe  jumped  as  though  a  bomb  had  been 
thrown  among  them.  The  patron  saint  of 
Fiume  is,  appropriately  enough,  St.  Vitus. 

In  discussing  the  question  of  Fiume  the  mis- 
take is  almost  invariably  made  of  considering 
it  as  a  single  city,  whereas  it  really  consists  of 
two  distinct  communities,  Fiume  and  Sussak, 
bitterly  antagonistic  and  differing  in  race,  re- 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  65 

ligion,  language,  politics,  customs,  and  thought. 
A  small  river,  the  Rieka,  no  wider  than  the 
Erie  Canal,  divides  the  city  into  two  parts,  one 
Latin  the  other  Slav,  very  much  as  the  Rio 
Grande  separates  the  American  city  of  El  Paso 
from  the  Mexican  town  of  Ciudad  Juarez.    On 
the  left  or  west  bank  of  the  river  is  Fiume,  with 
approximately  40,000   inhabitants,    of  whom 
very  nearly  three-fourths  are  Italian.    Here  are 
the  wharfs,  the  harbor  works,  the  rail-head,  the 
municipal  buildings,  the  hotels,  and  the  busi- 
ness districts.    But  cross  the  Rieka  by  the  single 
wooden   bridge   which    connects    Fiume    with 
Sussak  and  you  find  yourself  in  a  wholly  dif- 
ferent atmosphere.     In  a  hundred  paces  you 
pass  from  a  city  which  is  three-quarters  Italian 
to  a  town  which  is  overwhelmingly  Slav.    There 
are  about  4,500  people  in  Sussak,  of  whom  only 
one-eighth  are  Italian.    But  let  it  be  perfectly 
clear  that  Sussak  is  not  Fiume.    In  proclaiming 
its  annexation  to  Italy  on  the  ground  of  self- 
determination,  the  National  Council  of  Fiume 
did  not  include  Sussak,  which  is  a  Croatian  vil- 
lage in  historically  Croatian  territory.     It  will 
be  seen,  therefore,  that  Sussak,  which  is  not  a 
part  of  Fiume  but  an  entirely  separate  mu- 


66     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

nicipality,  does  not  enter  into  the  question  at 
all.  As  for  the  territory  immediately  adjacent 
to  Fiume  on  the  north  and  east,  it  is  as  Slav 
as  though  it  were  in  the  heart  of  Serbia.  To 
put  it  briefly,  Fiume  is  an  Italian  island  entirely 
surrounded  by  Slavs. 

The  violent  self-assertiveness  of  the  Fumani 
may  be  attributed  to  the  large  measure  of 
autonomy  which  they  have  always  enjoyed, 
Fiume's  status  as  a  free  city  having  been 
definitely  established  by  Ferdinand  I  in  1530, 
recognized  by  Maria  Theresa  in  1776  when  she 
proclaimed  it  "a  separate  body  annexed  to  the 
crown  of  Hungary/'  and  by  the  Hungarian 
Government  finally  confirmed  in  1868.  Louis 
Kossuth  admitted  its  extraterritorial  character 
when  he  said  that,  even  though  the  Magyar 
tongue  should  be  enforced  elsewhere  as  the 
medium  of  official  communication,  he  considered 
that  an  exception  "should  be  made  in  favor  of 
a  maritime  city  whose  vocation  was  to  welcome 
all  nations  led  thither  by  commerce." 

Though  the  Italian  element  of  the  popula- 
tion vociferously  asserts  its  adherence  to  the 
slogan  "Italia  o  Morte!"  I  am  convinced  that 
many  of  the  more  substantial  and  far-seeing 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  67 

citizens,  if  they  dared  freely  to  express  their 
opinions,  would  be  found  to  favor  the  restora- 
tion of  the  city's  ancient  autonomy  under  the 
aegis  of  the  League  of  Nations.  The  Italians 
of  Fiume  are  at  bottom,  beneath  their  excitable 
and  mercurial  temperaments,  a  shrewd  business 
people  who  have  the  commercial  future  of  their 
city  at  heart.  And  they  are  intelligent  enough 
to  realize  that,  unless  there  be  established  some 
stable  form  of  government  which  will  propitiate 
the  Slav  minority  as  well  as  the  Italian  ma- 
jority, the  Slav  nations  of  the  hinterland  will 
almost  certainly  divert  their  trade,  on  which 
Fiume's  commercial  importance  entirely  de- 
pends, to  some  non-Italian  port,  in  which  event 
the  city  would  inevitably  retrograde  to  the  ob- 
scure fishing  village  which  it  was  less  than  half 
a  century  ago. 

In  order  that  you  may  have  before  you  a 
clear  and  comprehensive  picture  of  this  most 
perplexing  and  dangerous  situation,  which  is 
so  fraught  with  peril  for  the  future  peace  of 
the  world,  suppose  that  I  sketch  for  you,  in  the 
fewest  word-strokes  possible,  the  arguments  of 
the  rival  claimants  for  fair  Fiume's  hand. 
Italy's  claims  may  be  classified  under  three 


68     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

heads:  sentimental,  commercial,  and  political. 
Her  sentimental  claims  are  based  on  the  ground 
that  the  city's  population,  character,  and  his- 
tory are  overwhelmingly  Italian.  I  have  al- 
ready stated  that  the  Italians  constitute  about 
three-fourths  of  the  total  population  of  Fiume, 
the  latest  figures,  as  quoted  in  the  United  States 
Senate,  giving  29,569  inhabitants  to  the  Italians 
and  14,798  to  the  Slavs.  There  is  no  denying 
that  the  city  has  a  distinctively  Italian  atmos- 
phere, for  its  architecture  is  Italian,  that  Vene- 
tian trademark,  the  Lion  of  St.  Mark,  being  in 
evidence  on  several  of  the  older  buildings;  the 
mode  of  outdoor  life  is  such  as  one  meets  in 
Italy;  most  of  its  stores  and  banks  are  owned 
by  Italians,  and  Italian  is  the  prevailing  tongue. 
The  claim  that  the  city's  history  is  Italian  is, 
however,  hardly  borne  out  by  history  itself, 
for  in  the  sixteen  centuries  which  have  elapsed 
since  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  Fiume  has 
been  under  Italian  rule — that  of  the  republic 
of  Venice — for  just  four  days. 

The  commercial  reason  underlying  Italy's  in- 
sistence on  obtaining  control  of  Fiume  is  due 
to  the  fact  that  Italians  are  convinced  that 
should  Fiume  pass  into  either  neutral  or  Jugo- 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  69 

slav  hands,  it  would  mean  the  commercial  ruin 
of  Trieste,  where  enormous  sums  of  Italian 
money  have  been  invested.  They  assert,  and 
with  sound  reasoning,  that  the  Slavs  of  the 
hinterland,  and  probably  the  Germans  and 
Magyars  as  well,  would  ship  through  Fiume, 
were  it  under  Slav  or  international  control,  in- 
stead of  through  Trieste,  which  is  Italian.  One 
does  not  need  to  be  an  economist  to  realize  that 
if  Fiume  could  secure  the  trade  of  Jugoslavia 
and  the  other  states  carved  from  the  Austro- 
Hungarian  Empire,  the  commercial  supremacy 
of  Trieste,  which  depends  upon  this  same  hin- 
terland, would  quickly  disappear.  On  the  other 
hand,  those  Italians  whose  vision  has  not  been 
distorted  by  their  passions  clearly  foresee  that, 
should  the  final  disposition  of  Fiume  prove  un- 
acceptable to  the  Jugoslavs,  they  will  almost 
certainly  divert  the  trade  of  the  interior  to  some 
Slav  port,  leaving  Fiume  to  drowse  in  idleness 
beside  her  moss-grown  wharfs  and  crumbling 
warehouses,  dreaming  dreams  of  her  one-time 
prosperity. 

Italy's  third  reason  for  insisting  on  the  ces- 
sion of  Fiume  is  political,  and,  because  it  ^is 
based  on  a  deep-seated  and  haunting  fear,  it  is, 


70    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

perhaps,  the  most  compelling  reason  of  all. 
Italy  does  not  trust  the  Jugoslavs.  She  cannot 
forget  that  the  Austrian  and  Hungarian  frac- 
tions of  the  new  Jugoslav  people — in  other 
words,  the  Slovenes  and  Croats — were  the  most 
faithful  subjects  of  the  Dual  Monarchy,  fight- 
ing for  the  Hapsburgs  with  a  ferocity  and  de- 
termination hardly  surpassed  in  the  war.  Un- 
like the  Poles  and  Czecho-Slovaks,  who  threw 
in  their  lot  with  the  Allies,  the  Slovenes  and 
Croats  fought,  and  fought  desperately,  for  the 
triumph  of  the  Central  Empires.  Had  these 
two  peoples  turned  against  their  masters  early 
in  the  war,  the  great  struggle  would  have  ended 
months,  perhaps  years,  earlier  than  it  did.  Yet, 
within  a  few  days  after  the  signing  of  the 
Armistice,  they  became  Jugoslavs,  and  an- 
nounced that  they  have  always  been  at  heart 
friendly  to  the  Allies.  But,  so  the  Italians 
argue,  their  conversion  has  been  too  sudden: 
they  have  changed  their  flag  but  not  their 
hearts;  their  real  allegiance  is  not  to  Belgrade 
but  to  Berlin.  The  Italian  attitude  toward 
these  peoples  who  have  so  abruptly  switched 
from  enemies  to  allies  is  that  of  the  American 
soldier  for  the  Filipino: 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  71 

"He  may  be  a  brother  of  William  H.  Taft, 
But  he  ain't  no  brother  of  mine." 

The  Italians  are  convinced  that  the  three 
peoples  who  have  been  so  hastily  welded  into 
Jugoslavia  will,  as  the  result  of  internal  jealous- 
ies and  dissensions,  eventually  disintegrate,  and 
that,  when  the  break-up  comes,  those  portions 
of  the  new  state  which  formerly  belonged  to 
Austria-Hungary  will  ally  themselves  with  the 
great  Teutonic  or,  perhaps,  Russo-Teutonic, 
confederation  which,  most  students  of  Eu- 
ropean affairs  believe,  will  arise  from  the  ruins 
of  the  Central  Empires.  When  that  day  comes 
the  new  power  will  look  with  hungering  eyes 
toward  the  rich  markets  which  fringe  the  Mid- 
dle Sea,  and  what  more  convenient  gateway 
through  which  to  pour  its  merchandise — and, 
perhaps,  its  fighting  men — than  Fiume  in 
friendly  hands?  In  order  to  bar  forever  this, 
the  sole  gateway  to  the  warm  water  still  open 
to  the  Hun,  the  Italians  should,  they  maintain, 
be  made  its  guardians. 

"But,"  you  argue,  "suppose  Jugoslavia  does 
not  break  up?  How  can  14,000,000  Slavs  seri- 
ously menace  Italy's  40,000,000?" 


72     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

Ah!  Now  you  touch  the  very  heart  of  the 
whole  matter;  now  you  have  put  your  finger 
on  the  secret  fear  which  has  animated  Italy 
throughout  the  controversy  over  Fiume  and 
Dalmatia.  For  I  do  not  believe  that  it  is  a 
reincarnated  Germany  which  Italy  dreads.  It 
is  something  far  more  ominous,  more  terrify- 
ing than  that,  which  alarms  her.  For,  look- 
ing across  the  Adriatic,  she  sees  the  monstrous 
vision  of  a  united  and  aggressive  Slavdom,  un- 
told millions  strong,  of  which  the  Jugoslavs  are 
but  the  skirmish-line,  ready  to  dispute  not  mere- 
ly Italy's  schemes  for  the  commercial  mastery 
of  the  Balkans  but  her  overlordship  of  that 
sea  which  she  regards  as  an  Italian  lake. 

Jugoslavia's  claims  to  Fiume  are  more  briefly 
stated.  Firstly,  she  lays  title  to  it  on  the  ground 
that  geographically  Fiume  belongs  to  Croatia, 
and  that  Croatia  is  now  a  part  of  Jugoslavia, 
or,  to  give  the  new  country  its  correct  name,  the 
Kingdom  of  the  Serbs,  Croats,  and  Slovenes. 
This  claim  is,  I  think,  well  founded,  and  this 
despite  the  fact  that  Italy  has  attempted  to 
prove,  by  means  of  innumerable  pamphlets  and 
maps,  that  Fiume,  being  within  the  great  semi- 
circular wall  formed  by  the  Alps,  is  physically 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  73 

Italian.  The  Jugoslavs  demand  Fiume,  sec- 
ondly, because,  they  assert,  if  Fiume  and  Sussak 
are  considered  as  a  single  city,  that  city  has 
more  Slavs  than  Italians,  while  the  population 
of  the  hinterland  is  almost  solidly  Croatian. 
With  the  first  half  of  this  claim  I  cannot  agree. 
As  I  have  already  pointed  out,  Sussak  is  not, 
and  never  has  been,  a  part  of  Fiume,  and  its 
annexation  is  not  demanded  by  the  Italians. 
Conceding,  however,  for  the  sake  of  argument, 
that  Fiume  and  Sussak  are  parts  of  the  same 
city,  the  most  reliable  figures  which  I  have  been 
able  to  obtain  show  that,  even  were  the  Slav 
majority  in  Sussak  added  to  the  Slav  minority 
in  Fiume,  the  Slavs  would  still  be  able  to  muster 
barely  more  than  a  third  of  the  total  popula- 
tion. By  far  the  strongest  title  which  the  Slavs 
have  to  the  city,  and  the  one  which  commands 
for  them  the  greatest  sympathy,  is  their  as- 
sertion that  Fiume  is  the  natural  and,  indeed, 
almost  the  only  practicable  commercial  outlet 
for  Jugoslavia,  and  that  the  struggling  young 
state  needs  it  desperately.  In  reply  to  this,  the 
Italians  point  out  that  there  are  numerous  har- 
bors along  the  Dalmatian  coast  which  would 
answer  the  needs  of  Jugoslavia  as  well,  or 


74     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

almost  as  well,  as  Fiume.  Now,  I  am  speak- 
ing from  first-hand  knowledge  when  I  assert 
that  this  is  not  so,  for  I  have  seen  with  my 
own  eyes  every  harbor,  or  potential  harbor,  on 
the  eastern  coast  of  the  Adriatic  from  Istria 
to  Greece.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  entire 
coast  of  Dalmatia  would  not  make  up  to  the 
Jugoslavs  for  the  loss  of  Fiume.  The  map 
gives  no  idea  of  the  city's  importance  as  the 
southernmost  point  at  which  a  standard-gauge 
railway  reaches  the  Adriatic,  for  the  railway 
leading  to  Ragusa,  to  which  the  Italians  so 
repeatedly  refer  as  providing  an  outlet  for  Ju- 
goslavia, is  not  only  narrow-gauge  but  is  in  part 
a  rack-and-pinion  mountain  line.  The  situation 
is  best  summed  up  by  the  commander  of  the 
American  war-ship  on  which  I  dined  at  Spalato. 
"It  is  not  a  question  of  finding  a  good  har- 
bor for  the  Jugoslavs,"  he  said.  "This  coast 
is  rich  in  splendid  harbors.  It  is  a  question, 
rather,  of  finding  a  practicable  route  for  a 
standard-gauge  railway  over  or  through  the 
mile-high  range  of  the  Dinaric  Alps,  which 
parallel  the  entire  coast,  shutting  the  coast 
towns  off  from  the  hinterland.  Until  such  a 
railway  is  built,  the  peoples  of  the  interior  have 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  75 

no  means  of  getting  their  products  down  to 
the  coast  save  through  Fiume.  Italy  already 
has  the  great  port  of  Trieste.  Were  she  also 
to  be  awarded  Fiume  she  would  have  a  strangle- 
hold on  the  trade  of  Jugoslavia  which  would 
probably  mean  that  country's  commercial 


ruin." 


I  have  now  given  you,  as  fairly  as  I  know 
how,  the  principal  arguments  of  the  rival 
claimants.  The  Italians  of  Fiume,  as  I  have 
already  shown,  outnumber  the  Slavs  almost 
three  to  one,  and  it  is  they  who  are  demanding 
so  violently  that  the  city  should  be  annexed  to 
Italy  on  the  ground  of  self-determination.  But 
I  do  not  believe  that,  because  there  is  an  un- 
doubted Italian  majority  in  Fiume,  the  city 
should  be  awarded  to  Italy.  If  Italy  were  ask- 
ing only  what  was  beyond  all  shadow  of  ques- 
tion Italian,  I  should  sympathize  with  her  un- 
reservedly. But  to  place  10,000  Slavs  under 
Italian  rule  would  be  as  unjust  and  as  provoca- 
tive of  future  trouble  as  to  place  30,000  Italians 
under  the  rule  of  Belgrade.  Nor  is  the  cession 
of  the  city  itself  the  end  of  Italy's  claims,  for, 
in  order  to  place  it  beyond  the  range  of  the 
enemy's  guns  (by  the  "enemy"  she  means  her 


76    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

late  allies,  the  Serbs),  in  order  to  maintain  con- 
trol of  the  railways  entering  the  city,  and  in 
order  to  bring  the  city  actually  within  her  terri- 
torial borders,  she  desires  to  extend  her  rule 
over  other  thousands  of  people  who  are  not 
Italian,  who  do  not  speak  the  Italian  tongue, 
and  who  do  not  wish  Italian  rule.  Italy  has 
no  stancher  friend  than  I,  but  neither  my  pro- 
found admiration  for  what  she  achieved  during 
the  war  nor  my  deep  sympathy  for  the  stagger- 
ing losses  she  suffered  can  blind  me  to  the  un- 
wisdom, let  us  call  it,  of  certain  of  her  de- 
mands. I  am  convinced  that,  when  the  pas- 
sions aroused  by  the  controversy  have  had  time 
to  cool,  the  Italians  will  themselves  question  the 
wisdom  of  accumulating  for  themselves  future 
troubles  by  creating  new  lost  provinces  and  a 
new  Irredenta  by  annexing  against  their  will 
thousands  of  people  of  an  alien  race.  Viewing 
the  question  from  the  standpoints  of  abstract 
justice,  of  sound  politics,  and  of  common  sense, 
I  do  not  believe  that  Fiume  should  be  given 
either  to  the  Italians  or  to  the  Jugoslavs,  but 
that  the  interests  of  both,  as  well  as  the  pros- 
perity of  the  Fumani  themselves,  should  be 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  77 

safeguarded  by  making  it  a  free  city  under  in- 
ternational control. 

No  account  of  the  extraordinary  drama — 
farce  would  be  a  better  name  were  its  possibil- 
ities not  so  tragic — which  is  being  staged  at 
Fiume  would  be  complete  without  some  men- 
tion of  the  romantic  figure  who  is  playing  the 
part  of  hero  or  villain,  according  to  whether 
your  sympathies  are  with  the  Italians  or  the 
Jugoslavs.  There  is  nothing  romantic,  mind 
you,  in  Gabriele  d'Annunzio's  personal  appear- 
ance. On  the  contrary,  he  is  one  of  the  most 
unimpressive-looking  men  I  have  ever  seen.  He 
is  short  of  stature — not  over  five  feet  five,  I 
should  guess — and  even  his  beautifully  cut 
clothes,  which  fit  so  faultlessly  about  the  waist 
and  hips  as  to  suggest  the  use  of  stays,  but 
partially  camouflage  the  corpulency  of  middle 
age.  His  head  looks  like  a  new-laid  egg  which 
has  been  highly  varnished;  his  pointed  beard  is 
clipped  in  a  fashion  which  reminded  me  of  the 
bronze  satyrs  in  the  Naples  museum;  a  monocle, 
worn  without  a  cord,  conceals  his  dead  eye, 
which  he  lost  in  battle.  His  walk  is  a  com- 
bination of  a  mince  and  a  swagger;  his  move- 


78     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

ments  are  those  of  an  actor  who  knows  that 
the  spotlight  is  upon  him. 

Though  d'Annunzio  takes  high  rank  among 
the  modern  poets,  many  of  his  admirers  hold- 
ing him  to  be  the  greatest  one  alive,  he  is  a 
far  greater  orator.  His  diction  is  perfect,  his 
wealth  of  imagery  exhaustless;  I  have  seen  him 
sway  a  vast  audience  as  a  wheat-field  is  swayed 
by  the  wind.  His  life  he  values  not  at  all: 
the  four  rows  of  ribbons  which  on  the  breast 
of  his  uniform  make  a  splotch  of  color  were 
not  won  by  his  verses.  Though  well  past  the 
half-century  mark,  he  has  participated  in  a 
score  of  aerial  combats,  occupying  the  observ- 
er's seat  in  his  fighting  Sva  and  operating  the 
machine-gun.  But  perhaps  the  most  brilliant 
of  his  military  exploits  was  a  bloodless  one, 
when  he  flew  over  Vienna  and  bombed  that 
city  with  proclamations,  written  by  himself, 
pointing  out  to  the  Viennese  the  futility  of 
further  resistance.  His  popularity  among  all 
classes  is  amazing;  his  word  is  law  to  the  great 
organization  known  as  the  Combatenti,  com- 
posed of  the  5,000,000  men  who  fought  in  the 
Italian  armies.  He  is  a  jingo  of  the  jingoes, 
his  plans  for  Italian  expansion  reaching  far 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  79 

beyond  the  annexation  of  Fiume  or  even  all  of 
Dalmatia,  for  he  has  said  again  and  again  that 
he  dreams  of  that  day  when  Italy  will  have  ex- 
tended her  rule  over  all  that  territory  which 
once  was  held  by  Rome. 

He  is  a  very  picturesque  and  interesting 
figure,  is  Gabriele  d'Annunzio — very  much  in 
earnest,  wholly  sincere,  but  fanatical,  egotistical, 
intolerant  of  the  rights  or  opinions  of  others, 
a  visionary,  and  perhaps  a  little  mad.  I  imagine 
that  he  would  rather  have  his  name  linked  with 
that  of  that  other  soldier-poet,  who  "flamed 
away  at  Missolonghi"  nearly  a  century  ago, 
than  with  any  other  character  in  history  save 
Garibaldi.  D'Annunzio,  like  Byron,  was  an 
exile  from  his  native  land.  Both  had  a  habit 
of  never  paying  their  bills;  both  had  offended 
against  the  social  codes  of  their  times;  both 
flamed  against  what  they  believed  to  be  in- 
justice and  tyranny;  both  had  a  passionate  love 
for  liberty;  both  possessed  a  highly  developed 
sense  of  the  dramatic  and  delighted  in  playing 
romantic  roles.  I  have  heard  it  said  that 
d'Annunzio's  raid  on  Fiume  would  make  his 
name  immortal,  but  I  doubt  it.  Barely  a  score 
of  years  have  passed  since  the  raid  on  Johannes- 


8o     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

burg,  which  was  a  far  more  daring  and  hazard- 
ous exploit  than  d'Annunzio's  Fiume  perform- 
ance, yet  to-day  how  many  people  remember 
Doctor  Jameson?  It  can  be  said  for  this  mid- 
dle-aged poet  that  he  has  successfully  defied  the 
government  of  Italy,  that  he  flouted  the  royal 
duke  who  was  sent  to  parley  with  him,  that  he 
seduced  the  Italian  army  and  navy  into  com- 
mitting open  mutiny — ua  breach  of  that  mili- 
tary discipline/'  in  the  words  of  the  Prime  Min- 
ister, "which  is  the  foundation  of  the  safety  of 
the  state" — and  that  he  has  done  more  to  shake 
foreign  confidence  in  the  stability  of  the  Italian 
character  and  the  dependability  of  the  Italian 
soldier  than  the  Austro-Germans  did  when  they 
brought  about  the  disaster  at  Caporetto. 

I  have  heard  it  said  that  the  Nitti  govern- 
ment had  advance  knowledge  of  the  raid  on 
Fiume  and  that  the  reason  it  took  no  vigorous 
measures  against  the  filibusters  was  because  it 
secretly  approved  of  their  action.  This  I  do 
not  believe.  With  President  Wilson,  the  Jugo- 
slavs, d'Annunzio,  and  the  Italian  army  and 
navy  arrayed  against  him,  I  am  convinced  that 
Mr.  Nitti  did  everything  that  could  be  done 
without  precipitating  either  a  war  or  a  revolu- 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  81 

tion.  Much  credit  is  also  due  to  the  Jugo- 
slavs for  their  forbearance  and  restraint  under 
great  provocation.  They  must  have  been  sore- 
ly tempted  to  give  the  Poet  the  spanking  he  so 
richly  deserves. 

When  the  small  army  of  newspaper  corre- 
spondents who  were  despatched  by  the  great 
New  York  and  London  dailies  to  Khartoum 
to  interview  Colonel  Roosevelt  upon  his 
emergence  from  the  jungle  started  up  the  White 
Nile  to  meet  the  explorer,  they  were  deterred, 
both  by  the  shortage  of  boats  and  the  question 
of  expense,  from  chartering  individual  steam- 
ers. But  the  public  at  home  was  not  permitted 
to  know  of  these  petty  limitations  and  annoy- 
ances. On  the  contrary,  people  all  over  the 
United  States,  at  their  breakfast-tables,  read 
the  despatches  from  the  far-off  Sudan  dated 
from  "On  board  the  New  York  Herald's 
dahabeah  Rameses"  or  "The  New  York  Amer- 
ican's despatch-boat  Abbas  Hilmi,"  or  uThe 
Chicago  Tribune's  special  steamer  General 
Gordon''  and  never  dreamed  that  the  young 
men  in  sun-helmets  and  white  linen  who  were 
writing  those  despatches  were  comfortably 


82     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

seated  under  the  awnings  of  the  same  decrepit 
stern-wheeler,  which  they  had  chartered  jointly, 
but  on  which,  in  order  to  lend  importance  and 
dignity  to  his  despatches,  each  correspondent 
had  bestowed  a  particular  name. 

But  the  destroyer  Sirio,  which  we  found 
awaiting  us  at  Fiume,  we  did  not  have  to  share 
with  any  one.  Thanks  to  the  courtesy  of  the 
Italian  Ministry  of  Marine,  she  was  all  ours, 
while  we  were  aboard  her,  from  her  knife-like 
prow  to  the  screws  kicking  the  water  under  her 
stern. 

"I  am  under  orders  to  place  myself  entirely 
at  your  disposal,"  explained  her  youthful  and 
very  stiffly  starched  skipper,  Commander  Poggi. 
"I  am  to  go  where  you  desire  and  to  stop  as 
long  as  you  please.  Those  are  my  instruc- 
tions." 

Thus  it  came  about  that,  shortly  after  noon 
on  a  scorching  summer  day,  we  cast  off  our 
moorings  and,  leaving  quarrel-torn  Fiume 
abaft,  turned  the  nose  of  the  Sirio  sou'  by  sou'- 
west,  down  the  coast  of  Dalmatia.  The  sun- 
kissed  waters  of  the  Bay  of  Quarnero  looked 
for  all  the  world  like  a  vast  azure  carpet  strewn 
with  a  million  sparkling  diamonds ;  on  our  star- 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  83 

board  quarter  stretched  the  green-clad  slopes 
of  Istria,  with  the  white  villas  of  Abbazia  peep- 
ing coyly  out  from  amid  the  groves  of  pine 
and  laurel;  to  the  eastward  the  bleak  brown 
peaks  of  the  Dinaric  Alps  rose,  savage,  myste- 
rious, forbidding,  against  the  cloudless  summer 
sky.  Perhaps  no  stretch  of  coast  in  all  the 
world  has  had  so  varied  and  romantic  a  his- 
tory or  so  many  masters  as  this  Dalmatian  sea- 
board. Since  the  days  of  the  tattooed  bar- 
barians who  called  themselves  Illyrian,  this 
coast  has  been  ruled  in  turn  by  Phoenicians, 
Celts,  Macedonians,  Greeks,  Romans,  Goths, 
Byzantines,  Croats,  Serbs,  Bulgars,  Huns, 
Avars,  Saracens,  Normans,  Magyars,  Genoese, 
Venetians,  Tartars,  Bosnians,  Turks,  French, 
Russians,  Montenegrins,  British,  Austrians, 
Italians — and  now  by  Americans,  for  from 
Cape  Planca  southward  to  Ragusa,  a  distance 
of  something  over  a  hundred  miles,  the  United 
States  is  the  governing  power  and  an  American 
admiral  holds  undisputed  sway. 

Leaning  over  the  rail  as  we  fled  southward 
I  lost  myself  in  dreams  of  far-off  days.  In 
my  mind  I  could  see,  sweeping  past  in  imaginary 
review,  those  other  vessels  which,  all  down  the 


84     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

ages,  had  skirted  these  same  shores :  the  purple 
sails  of  Phoenicia,  Greek  galleys  bearing  colo- 
nists from  Cnidus,  Roman  triremes  with  the 
slaves  sweating  at  the  oars,  high-powered,  low- 
waisted  Norman  caravels  with  the  arms  of  their 
marauding  masters  painted  on  their  bellowing 
canvas,  stately  Venetian  carracks  with  carved 
and  gilded  sterns,  swift-sailing  Uskok  pirate 
craft,  their  decks  crowded  with  swarthy  men  in 
skirts  and  turbans,  Genoese  galleons,  laden  with 
the  products  of  the  hot  lands,  French  and  Eng- 
lish frigates  with  brass  cannon  peering  from 
their  rows  of  ports,  the  grim,  gray  monsters  of 
the  Hapsburg  navy.  And  then  I  suddenly 
awoke,  for,  coming  up  from  the  southward  at 
full  speed,  their  slanting  funnels  vomiting  great 
clouds  of  smoke,  were  four  long,  low,  lean,  in- 
credibly swift  craft,  ostrich-plumes  of  snowy 
foam  curling  from  their  bows,  which  sped  past 
us  like  wolfhounds  running  with  their  noses  to 
the  ground.  As  they  passed  I  could  see  quite 
plainly,  flaunting  from  each  taffrail,  a  flag  of 
stripes  and  stars. 

The  sun  was  sinking  behind  Italy  when, 
threading  our  way  amid  the  maze  of  islands  and 
islets  which  border  the  Dalmatian  shore,  we 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN   85 

saw  beyond  our  bows,  silhouetted  against  the 
rose-coral  of  the  evening  sky,  the  slender  cam- 
paniles and  the  crenellated  ramparts  of  Zara. 
It  was  so  still  and  calm  and  beautiful  that  I 
felt  as  though  I  were  looking  at  a  scene  upon  a 
stage  and  that  the  curtain  would  descend  at  any 
moment  and  destroy  the  illusion.  The  little 
group  of  white-clad  naval  officers  who  greeted 
us  upon  the  quay  informed  us  that  the  governor- 
general,  Admiral  Count  Millo,  had  placed  at 
our  disposal  the  yacht  Zara,  formerly  the  prop- 
erty of  the  Austrian  Emperor,  on  which  we 
were  to  live  during  our  stay  in  the  Dalmatian 
capital.  It  was  a  peculiarly  thoughtful  thing 
to  do,  for  the  summers  are  hot  in  Zara,  the 
city's  few  hotels  leave  much  to  be  desired,  and 
a  stay  at  a  palace,  even  that  of  a  provincial 
governor,  is  hedged  about  by  a  certain  amount 
of  formality  and  restrictions.  But  the  Zara, 
while  we  were  aboard  her,  was  as  much  ours 
as  the  Mayflower  is  Mr.  Wilson's.  We  oc- 
cupied the  spacious  after-cabins,  exquisitely 
paneled  in  white  mahogany,  which  had  been 
used  by  the  Austrian  archduchesses  and  whose 
furnishings  still  bore  the  imperial  crown,  and 
our  breakfasts  were  served  under  the  white 


86     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

awnings  stretched  over  the  after-deck,  where, 
lounging  in  the  grateful  shade,  we  could  look 
out  across  the  harbor,  dotted  with  the  gaudy 
sails  of  fishing  craft  and  bordered  by  the  walls 
and  gardens  of  the  quaint  old  city,  to  the  islands 
of  Arbe  and  Pago,  rising,  like  huge,  uncut 
emeralds,  from  the  lazy  southern  sea.  At  noon 
we  usually  lunched  with  a  score  or  more  of 
staff-officers  in  the  large,  cool  dining-room  of 
the  officers'  mess,  and  at  night  we  dined  with 
the  governor-general  and  his  family  at  the 
palace,  formerly  the  residence  of  the  Austrian 
viceroys.  Dinner  over,  we  lounged  in  cane 
chairs  on  the  terrace,  served  by  white-clad, 
silent-footed  servants  with  coffee,  cigarettes, 
and  the  maraschino  for  which  this  coast  is 
famous.  Those  were  never-to-be-forgotten  eve- 
nings, for  the  gently  heaving  breast  of  the 
Adriatic  glowed  with  a  phosphorescent  lumin- 
ousness,  the  air  was  heavy  with  the  fragrance 
of  orange,  almond,  and  oleander,  the  sky  was 
like  purple  velvet,  and  the  stars  seemed  very 
near. 

Though  the  population  of  Dalmatia  is  over- 
whelmingly Slav,  quite  two-thirds  of  the  14,000 
inhabitants  of  Zara,  its  capital,  are  Italian. 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  87 

Yet,  were  it  not  for  the  occasional  Morlachs  in 
their  picturesque  costumes  seen  in  the  markets 
or  on  the  wharfs,  one  would  not  suspect  the 
presence  of  any  Slav  element  in  the  town,  for 
the  dim  and  tortuous  streets  and  the  spacious 
squares  bear  Italian  names — Via  del  Duomo, 
Riva  Vecchia,  Piazza  della  Colonna;  crouching 
above  the  city  gates  is  the  snarling  Lion  of  St. 
Mark,  and  everywhere  one  hears  the  liquid 
accents  of  the  Latin.  Zara,  like  Fiume,  is  an 
Italian  colony  set  down  on  a  Slavonian  shore, 
and,  like  its  sister-city  to  the  north,  it  bears  the 
indelible  and  unmistakable  imprint  of  Italian 
civilization. 

The  long,  narrow  strip  of  territory  sand- 
wiched between  the  Adriatic  and  the  Dinaric 
Alps  which  comprised  the  Austrian  province  of 
Dalmatia,  though  upward  of  200  miles  in 
length,  has  an  area  scarcely  greater  than  that 
of  Connecticut  and  a  population  smaller  than 
that  of  Cleveland.  Scarcely  more  than  a  tenth 
of  its  whole  surface  is  under  the  plow,  the 
rest,  where  it  is  not  altogether  sterile,  consisting 
of  mountain  pasture.  With  the  exception  of 
scattered  groves  on  the  landward  slopes,  the 
country  is  virtually  treeless,  the  forests  for 


88     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

which  Dalmatia  was  once  famous  having  been 
cut  down  by  the  Venetian  ship-builders  or 
wantonly  burned  by  the  Uskok  pirates,  while 
every  attempt  at  replanting  has  been  frustrated 
by  the  shallowness  of  the  soil,  the  frequent 
droughts,  and  the  multitudes  of  goats  which 
browse  on  the  young  trees.  The  dreary  ex- 
panse of  the  Bukovica,  lying  between  Zara  and 
the  Bosnian  frontier,  is,  without  exception,  the 
most  inhospitable  region  that  I  have  ever  seen. 
For  mile  after  mile,  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  the 
earth  is  overlaid  by  a  thick  stratum  of  jagged 
limestone,  so  rough  that  no  horse  could  traverse 
it,  so  sharp  and  flinty  that  a  quarter  of  an  hour's 
walking  across  it  would  cut  to  pieces  the  stout- 
est pair  of  boots.  Under  the  rays  of  the  sum- 
mer sun  these  rocks  become  as  hot  as  the  top 
of  a  stove;  so  hot,  indeed,  that  eggs  can  be 
cooked  upon  them,  while  metal  objects  exposed 
for  only  a  few  minutes  to  the  sun  will  burn 
the  hand.  Scattered  here  and  there  over  this 
terrible  plateau  are  tiny  farmsteads,  their 
houses  and  the  walls  shutting  in  the  little 
patches  under  cultivation  being  built  from  the 
stones  obtained  in  clearing  the  soil,  a  task  re- 
quiring incredible  patience.  No  wonder  that 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  89 

the  folk  who  dwell  in  them  are  characterized 
by  expressions  as  stony  and  hopeless  as  the  soil 
from  which  they  wring  a  wretched  existence. 

No  seaboard  of  the  Mediterranean,  save 
only  the  coast  of  Greece,  is  so  deeply  indented 
as  the  Dalmatian  littoral,  with  its  unending  suc- 
cession of  rock-bound  bays,  as  frequent  as  the 
perforations  on  a  postage-stamp,  and  its  thick 
fringe  of  islands.  In  calm  weather  the  chan- 
nels between  these  islands  and  the  mainland 
resemble  a  chain  of  landlocked  lakes,  like  those 
in  the  Adirondacks  or  in  southern  Ontario,  be- 
ing connected  by  narrow  straits  called  canales, 
brilliantly  clear  to  a  depth  of  several  fathoms. 
As  a  rule,  the  surrounding  hills  are  rugged, 
bleached  yellow  or  pale  russet,  and  destitute  of 
verdure,  but  their  monotony  is  relieved  by  the 
half-ruined  castles  and  monasteries  which, 
perched  on  the  rocky  heights,  perpetually  re- 
minded me  of  Howard  Pyle's  paintings,  and  by 
the  medieval  charm  of  Zara,  Sebenico,  Spalato, 
Ragusa,  Arbe,  and  Curzola,  whose  architecture, 
though  predominantly  Venetian,  bears  charac- 
teristic traces  of  the  many  races  which  have 
ruled  them. 

Just  as  Italy  insisted  on  pushing  her  new 


90     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

borders  up  to  the  Brenner  so  that  she  might 
have  a  strategic  frontier  on  the  north,  so  she 
lays  claim  to  the  larger  of  the  Dalmatian  is- 
lands— Lissa,  Lesina,  Curzola,  and  certain 
others — in  order  to  protect  her  Adriatic  shores. 
A  glance  at  the  map  will  make  her  reasons 
amply  plain.  There  stretches  Italy's  eastern 
coastline,  600  miles  of  it,  from  Venice  to 
Otranto,  with  half  a  dozen  busy  cities  and  a 
score  of  fishing  towns,  as  bare  and  unprotected 
as  a  bald  man's  hatless  head.  Not  only  is 
there  not  a  single  naval  base  on  Italy's  Adriatic 
coast  south  of  Venice,  but  there  is  no  harbor  or 
inlet  that  can  be  transformed  into  one.  Yet 
across  the  Adriatic,  barely  four  hours  steam 
by  destroyer  away,  is  a  wilderness  of  islands 
and  deep  harbors  where  an  enemy's  fleet  could 
lie  safely  hidden,  from  which  it  could  emerge 
to  attack  Italian  commerce  or  to  bombard 
Italy's  unprotected  coast  towns,  and  where  it 
could  take  refuge  when  the  pursuit  became  too 
hot.  All  down  the  ages  the  dwellers  along 
Italy's  eastern  seaboard  have  been  terrorized 
by  naval  raids  from  across  the  Adriatic.  And 
Italy  has  determined  that  they  shall  be  terror- 
ized no  more.  How  history  repeats  itself  I 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  91 

Just  as  Rome,  twenty-two  centuries  ago,  could 
not  permit  the  neighboring  islands  of  Sicily  to 
fall  into  the  hands  of  Carthage,  so  Italy  can- 
not permit  these  coastwise  islands,  which  form 
her  only  protection  against  attacks  from  the 
east,  to  pass  under  the  control  of  the  Jugo- 
slavs. 

"But,"  I  said  to  the  Italians  with  whom  I 
discussed  the  matter,  "why  do  you  need  any 
such  protection  now  that  the  world  is  to  have 
a  League  of  Nations?  Isn't  that  a  sufficient 
guarantee  that  the  Jugoslavs  will  never  attack 
you?" 

"The  League  of  Nations  is  in  theory  a  splen- 
did thing,"  was  their  answer.  "We  subscribe 
to  it  in  principle  most  heartily.  But  because 
there  is  a  policeman  on  duty  in  your  street,  do 
you  leave  wide  open  your  front  door?" 

To  be  quite  candid,  I  do  not  think  that  it  is 
against  Jugoslavia,  or,  perhaps  it  would  be 
more  accurate  to  say,  against  an  unaided  Jugo- 
slavia, that  Italy  is  taking  precautions.  I  have 
already  said,  I  believe,  that  thinking  Italians 
look  with  grave  forebodings  to  the  day  when  a 
great  Slav  confederation  shall  rise  across  the 
Adriatic,  but  that  day,  as  they  know  full  well, 


92     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

is  still  far  distant.  Italy's  desperate  insistence 
on  retaining  possession  of  the  more  important 
Dalmatian  islands  is  dictated  by  a  far  more 
immediate  danger  than  that.  She  is  convinced 
that  her  next  war  will  be  fought,  not  with  the 
weak  young  state  of  Jugoslavia,  but  with  Jugo- 
slavia allied  with  France.  Every  Italian  with 
whom  I  discussed  the  question — and  I  migh*t 
add,  without  boasting,  many  highly  placed  and 
well-informed  Italians  have  honored  me  with 
their  confidence — firmly  believes  that  France 
is  jealous  of  Italy's  rapidly  increasing  power  in 
the  Mediterranean,  and  that  she  is  secretly  in- 
triguing with  the  Jugoslavs  and  the  Greeks  to 
prevent  Italy  obtaining  commercial  supremacy 
in  the  Balkans.  I  do  not  say  that  this  is  my 
opinion,  mind  you,  but  I  do  say  that  it  is  the 
opinion  held  by  most  Italians.  I  found  that 
the  resentment  against  the  French  for  what  the 
Italians  term  France's  "betrayal"  of  Italy  at 
the  Peace  Conference  was  almost  universal; 
everywhere  in  Italy  I  found  a  deep-seated  dis- 
trust of  France's  commercial  ambitions  and 
political  designs.  Though  the  Italians  admit 
that  the  Jugoslavs  will  not  be  able  to  build  a 
navy  for  many  years  to  come,  they  fear,  or 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  93 

profess  to  fear,  that  the  day  is  not  immeasur- 
ably far  distant  when  a  French  battle  fleet,  co- 
operating with  the  armies  of  Jugoslavia,  will 
threaten  Italy's  Adriatic  seaboard.  And  they 
are  determined  that,  should  such  a  day  ever 
come,  French  ships  shall  not  be  afforded  the 
protection,  as  were  the  Austrian,  of  the  Dal- 
matian islands.  Italy,  with  her  great  modern 
battle  fleet  and  her  5,000,000  fighting  men, 
regards  the  threats  of  Jugoslavia  with  some- 
thing akin  to  contempt,  but  France,  turned  im- 
perialistic and  arrogant  by  her  victory  over 
the  Hun,  Italy  distrusts  and  fears,  believing 
that,  while  protesting  her  friendship,  she  is 
secretly  fomenting  opposition  to  legitimate  Ital- 
ian aspirations  in  the  Balkan  peninsula  and  in 
the  Middle  Sea.  (Again  let  me  remind  you 
that  I  am  giving  you  not  my  own,  but  Italy's 
point  of  view.)  You  will  sneer  at  this,  per- 
haps, as  a  phantasm  of  the  imagination,  but  I 
assure  you,  with  all  the  earnestness  and  em- 
phasis at  my  command,  that  this  distrust  of  one 
great  Latin  nation  for  another,  whether  it  is 
justified  or  not,  forms  a  deadly  menace  to  the 
future  peace  of  the  world. 


94     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

Because  I  did  not  wish  to  confine  my  observa- 
tions to  the  coast  towns,  which  are,  after  all, 
essentially  Italian,  I  motored  across  Dalmatia 
at  its  widest  part,  from  Zara,  through  Ben- 
kovac,  Kistonje,  and  Knin,  to  the  little  hamlet 
of  Kievo,  on  the  Jugoslav  frontier.  Though 
the  Slav  population  of  the  Dalmatian  hinter- 
land is,  according  to  the  assertions  of  Belgrade, 
bitterly  hostile  to  Italian  rule,  I  did  not  de- 
tect a  single  symptom  of  animosity  toward  the 
Italian  officers  who  were  my  companions  on 
the  part  of  the  peasants  whom  we  passed.  They 
displayed,  on  the  contrary,  the  utmost  courtesy 
and  good  feeling,  the  women,  looking  like  huge 
and  gaudily  dressed  dolls  in  their  snowy  blouses 
and  embroidered  aprons,  courtesying,  while  the 
tall,  fine-looking  men  gravely  touched  the  little 
round  caps  which  are  the  national  head-gear 
of  Dalmatia. 

Kievo  is  the  last  town  in  Dalmatia,  being 
only  a  few  score  yards  from  the  Bosnian  fron- 
tier. Its  little  garrison  was  in  command  of 
a  young  Italian  captain,  a  tall,  slender  fellow 
with  the  blond  beard  of  a  Viking  and  the 
dreamy  eyes  of  a  poet.  He  had  been  stationed 
at  this  lonely  outpost  for  seven  months,  he  told 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  95 

me,  and  he  welcomed  us  as  a  man  wrecked  on 
a  desert  island  would  welcome  a  rescue  party. 
In  order  to  escape  from  the  heat  and  filth  and 
insects  of  the  village,  he  had  built  in  a  near-by 
grove  a  sort  of  arbor,  with  a  roof  of  interlaced 
branches  to  keep  off  the  sun.  Its  furnishings 
consisted  of  a  home-made  table,  an  army  cot, 
two  or  three  decrepit  chairs,  and  a  phonograph. 
I  did  not  need  to  inquire  where  he  had  ob- 
tained the  phonograph,  for  on  its  cover  was 
stenciled  the  familiar  red  triangle  of  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.— the  "Yimka,"  as  the  Italians 
call  it — which  operates  more  than  300  casas 
for  the  use  of  the  Italian  army.  While  our 
host  was  preparing  a  dubious-looking  drink 
from  sweet,  bright-colored  syrups  and  lukewarm 
water,  I  amused  myself  by  glancing  over  the 
little  stack  of  records  on  the  table.  They  were, 
of  course,  nearly  all  Italian,  but  I  came  upon 
three  that  I  knew  well:  "Loch  Lomond,"  "Old 
Folks  at  Home''  and  "So  Long,  Letty."  It 
was  like  meeting  a  party  of  old  friends  in  a 
strange  land.  I  tried  the  later  record,  and 
though  it  was  not  very  clear,  for  the  captain's 
supply  of  needles  had  run  out  and  he  had  been 
reduced  to  using  ordinary  pins,  it  was  startling 


96     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

to  hear  Charlotte  Greenwood's  familiar  voice 
caroling  "So  long,  so  long,  Letty,"  there  on 
the  borders  of  Bosnia,  with  a  picket  of  curious 
Jugoslavs,  rifles  across  their  knees,  seated  on 
the  rocky  hillside,  barely  a  stone's  throw  away. 
Still,  come  to  think  about  it,  the  war  produced 
many  contrasts  quite  as  strange,  as,  for  ex- 
ample, when  the  New  York  Irish,  the  old  69th, 
crossed  the  Rhine  with  the  regimental  band 
playing  "The  Sidewalks  of  New  York!' 

We  touched  at  Sebenico,  which  is  forty  knots 
down  the  coast  from  Zara,  in  order  to  accept 
an  invitation  to  lunch  with  Lieutenant-General 
Montanari,  who  commands  all  the  Italian 
troops  in  Dalmatia.  Now  before  we  started 
down  the  Adriatic  we  had  been  warned  that, 
because  of  President  Wilson's  attitude  on  the 
Fiume  question,  the  feeling  against  Americans 
ran  very  high,  and  that  from  the  Italians  we 
must  be  prepared  for  coldness,  if  not  for  actual 
insults.  Well,  this  luncheon  at  Sebenico  was 
an  example  of  the  insults  we  received  and  the 
coldness  with  which  we  were  treated.  Because 
our  destroyer  was  late,  half  a  hundred  busy 
officers  delayed  their  midday  meal  for  two 
hours  in  order  not  to  sit  down  without  us.  The 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  97 

table  was  decorated  with  American  flags,  and 
other  American  flags  had  been  hand-painted  on 
the  menus.  And,  as  a  final  affront,  a  destroyer 
had  been  sent  across  the  Adriatic  Sea  to  obtain 
lobsters  because  the  general  had  heard  that  my 
wife  was  particularly  fond  of  them.  After  that 
experience  don't  talk  to  me  about  Southern 
hospitality.  Though  the  Italians  bitterly  resent 
President  Wilson's  interference  in  an  affair 
which  they  consider  peculiarly  their  own,  their 
resentment  does  not  extend  to  the  President's 
countrymen.  Their  attitude  is  aptly  illustrated 
by  an  incident  which  took  place  at  the  mess 
of  a  famous  regiment  of  Bersaglieri,  when  the 
picture  of  President  Wilson,  which  had  hung 
on  the  wall  of  the  mess-hall,  opposite  that  of 
the  King,  was  taken  down — and  an  American 
flag  hung  in  its  place. 

The  most  interesting  building  in  Sebenico  is 
the  cathedral,  which  was  begun  when  America 
had  yet  to  be  discovered.  The  chief  glory  of 
the  cathedral  is  its  exterior,  with  its  superb 
carved  doors,  its  countless  leering,  grinning 
gargoyles — said  to  represent  the  evil  spirits  ex- 
pelled from  the  church — and  a  broad  frieze, 
running  entirely  around  the  edifice,  composed 


9&    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

of  sculptured  likenesses  of  the  architects,  artists, 
sculptors,  masons,  and  master-builders  who 
participated  in  its  construction.  Put  collars, 
neckties,  and  derby  hats  on  some  of  them  and 
you  would  have  striking  likenesses  of  certain 
labor  leaders  of  to-day.  The  next  time  a  build- 
ing of  note  is  erected  in  this  country  the  coun- 
tenances of  the  bricklayers,  hod-carriers,  and 
walking  delegates  might  be  immortalized  in 
some  such  fashion.  I  offer  the  suggestion  to 
the  labor-unions  for  what  it  is  worth. 

Throughout  all  the  years  of  Austrian  domi- 
nation the  citizens  of  Sebenico  remained  loyal 
to  their  Italian  traditions,  as  is  proved  by  the 
medallions  ornamenting  the  fagade  of  the 
cathedral,  each  of  which  bears  the  image  of 
a  saint.  One  of  these  sculptured  saints,  it  was 
pointed  out  to  me,  has  the  unmistakable  fea- 
tures of  Victor  Emanuel  I,  another  those  of 
Garibaldi.  Thus  did  the  Italian  workmen  of 
their  day  cunningly  express  their  defiance  of 
Austria's  tyranny  by  ornamenting  one  of  her 
most  splendid  cathedrals  with  the  heads  of 
Italian  heroes.  Imagine  carving  the  heads  of 
Elihu  Root  and  Charles  E.  Hughes  on  the 
facade  of  Tammany  Hall ! 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  99 

Next  to  the  cathedral,  the  most  interesting 
building  in  Sebenico  is  the  insect-powder  fac- 
tory. It  is  a  large  factory  and  does  a  thriving 
business,  the  need  for  its  product  being  Balkan- 
wide.  If,  for  upward  of  five  months,  you  had 
fought  nightly  engagements  with  the  cimex  lee- 
tularius,  you  would  understand  how  vital  is  an 
ample  supply  of  powder.  Believe  me  or  not, 
as  you  please,  but  in  many  parts  of  Dalmatia 
and  Albania  we  were  compelled  to  defend  our 
beds  against  nocturnal  raiding-parties  by  raising 
veritable  ramparts  of  insect-powder,  very  much 
as  in  Flanders  we  threw  up  earthworks  against 
the  assaults  of  the  Hun,  while  in  Monastir  the 
only  known  way  of  obtaining  sleep  is  to  set  the 
legs  of  one's  bed  in  basins  filled  with  kerosene. 

Four  hours  steaming  south  from  Sebenico 
brought  us  to  Spalato,  the  largest  city  of  Dal- 
matia and  one  of  the  most  picturesquely  situ- 
ated towns  in  the  Levant.  It  owes  its  name  to 
the  great  palace  (palatium)  of  Diocletian, 
within  the  precincts  of  which  a  great  part  of 
the  old  town  is  built  and  around  which  have 
sprung  up  its  more  modern  suburbs.  Cosily 
ensconced  between  the  stately  marble  columns 
which  formed  the  palace's  fagade  are  fruit, 


ioo    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

tobacco,  barber,  shoe,  and  tailor  shops,  whose 
proprietors  drive  a  roaring  trade  with  the 
sailors  from  the  international  armada  as- 
sembled in  the  harbor.  A  great  hall,  which 
had  probably  originally  been  one  of  the  vesti- 
bules of  the  palace,  was  occupied  by  the  Knights 
of  Columbus,  the  place  being  in  charge  of  a 
khaki-clad  priest,  Father  Mullane,  of  Johns- 
town, Pa.,  who  twice  daily  dispensed  true 
American  hospitality,  in  the  form  of  hot  dough- 
nuts and  mugs  of  steaming  coffee,  to  the  blue- 
jackets from  the  American  ships.  As  there 
was  no  coal  to  be  had  in  the  town,  he  made  the 
doughnuts  with  the  aid  of  a  plumber's  blowpipe. 
In  the  course  of  our  conversation  Father  Mul- 
lane mentioned  that  he  was  living  with  the 
Serbian  bishop — at  least  I  think  he  was  a  bishop 
— of  Spalato. 

"I  suppose  he  speaks  English  or  French,"  I 
remarked. 

"He  does  not,"  was  the  answer. 

"Then  you  must  have  picked  up  some  Serb 
or  Italian,"  I  hazarded. 

"Niver  a  wurrd  of  thim  vulgar  tongues  do 
I  know,"  said  he. 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  101 

"Then  how  do  you  and  the  bishop  get 
along  ?"  :  ,  ;'•/ 

"Shure,"  said  Father  MuJlane,  in,  ^ho,  rich 
brogue  which  is,  I  tfrfajgme;  -something r  of  an 
affectation,  "an'  what  is  the  use  of  bein'  edu- 
cated for  the  church  if  we  were  not  able  to 
converse  with  ease  an'  fluency  in  iligant  an' 
refined  Latin?" 

When  we  were  leaving  Spalato,  Father  Mul- 
lane  presented  us  with  a  Bon  Voyage  package 
which  contained  cigarettes,  a  box  of  milk  choc- 
olate, and  a  five-pound  tin  of  gum-drops.  The 
cigarettes  we  smoked,  the  chocolate  we  ate,  but 
the  gum-drops  we  used  for  tips  right  across  the 
Balkans.  In  lands  whose  people  have  not 
known  the  taste  of  sugar  for  five  years  we 
found  that  a  handful  of  gum-drops  would  ac- 
complish more  than  money.  A  few  men  with 
Father  Mullane's  resource,  tact,  and  sense  of 
humor  would  do  more  than  all  the  diplomats 
under  the  roof  of  the  Hotel  Crillon  to  settle 
international  differences  and  make  the  nations 
understand  each  other. 

I  had  been  warned  by  archaeological  friends, 
before  I  went  to  Dalmatia,  that  the  ruins  of 
Salona,  which  once  was  the  capital  of  Roman 


102     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

Dalmatia  and  the  site  of  the  summer  palace  of 
Diocletian,  would  probably  disappoint  me. 
Thoy-date  from  the  period  of  Roman  deca- 
dence; so 'my  leariitd  'friends  explained,  and, 
though  following  Roman  traditions,  frequently 
show  traces  of  negligence,  a  fact  which  is  ac- 
counted for  by  the  haste  with  which  the  ailing 
and  hypochondriac  Emperor  sought  to  build 
himself  a  retreat  from  the  world.  Still,  the 
little  excursion — for  Salona  is  only  five  miles 
from  Spalato — provided  much  that  was  worth 
the  seeing:  a  partially  excavated  amphitheater, 
a  long  row  of  stone  sarcophagi  lying  in  a  trench, 
one  or  two  fine  gates,  and  some  beautifully  pre- 
served mosaics.  I  must  confess,  however,  that 
I  was  more  interested  in  the  modern  aspects  of 
this  region  than  in  its  glorious  past,  for,  stand- 
ing upon  the  massive  walls  of  the  Roman  city, 
I  looked  down  upon  a  panorama  of  power  such 
as  Diocletian  had  never  pictured  in  his  wildest 
dreams,  for,  moored  in  a  long  and  impressive 
row,  their  stern-lines  made  fast  to  the  Molot 
was  a  line  of  war-ships  flying  the  flags  of  Eng- 
land, France,  Italy,  and  the  United  States.  On 
the  right  of  the  line,  as  befitted  the  fact  that 
its  commander  was  the  senior  naval  officer  and 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  103 

in  charge  of  all  this  portion  of  the  coast,  was 
Admiral  Andrews's  flag-ship,  the  Olympia,  but 
little  changed,  at  least  to  the  casual  glance, 
since  that  day,  more  than  twoscore  years  ago, 
when  she  blazed  her  way  into  Manila  Bay  and 
won  for  us  a  colonial  empire.  On  her  bridge, 
outlined  in  brass  tacks,  I  was  shown  Admiral 
Dewey's  footprints,  just  as  he  stood  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  battle  when  he  gave  the  order 
"You  may  fire  when  you  are  ready,  Gridley." 
Of  the  18,000  inhabitants  of  Spalato,  less 
than  a  tenth  are  Italian,  the  general  character 
of  the  town  and  the  sympathies  of  its  in- 
habitants being  strongly  pro-Slav.  In  fact,  its 
streets  were  filled  with  Jugoslav  soldiers,  many 
of  them  still  wearing  the  uniforms  of  the  Aus- 
trian regiments  in  which  they  had  served  but 
with  Serbian  kepis,  while  others  looked  strange- 
ly familiar  in  khaki  uniforms  furnished  them 
by  the  United  States.  It  being  warm  weather, 
most  of  the  men  wore  their  coats  unbuttoned, 
thereby  displaying  a  considerable  expanse  of 
hairy  chest  or  violently  colored  underwear  and 
producing  a  somewhat  negligee  effect.  Because 
of  the  presence  in  the  town  of  the  Jugoslav 
soldiery,  the  crews  of  the  Italian  war-ships  were 


104    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

not  permitted  to  go  ashore  with  the  sailors  of 
the  other  nations,  as  Admiral  Andrews  feared 
that  their  presence  might  provoke  unpleasant 
incidents.  Hence  their  "shore  leave"  had,  for 
nearly  six  months,  been  confined  to  the  narrow 
concrete  Molo,  where  they  were  permitted  to 
stroll  in  the  evenings  and  where  the  Italian 
girls  of  the  town  came  to  see  them.  For  a 
Jugoslav  girl  to  have  been  seen  in  company  with 
an  Italian  sailor  would  have  meant  her  social 
ostracism,  if  nothing  worse. 

Though  Italy  will  unquestionably  insist  on 
the  cession  of  certain  of  the  Dalmatian  islands, 
in  order,  as  I  have  already  pointed  out,  to  as- 
sure herself  a  defensible  eastern  frontier,  and 
though  she  will  ask  for  Zara  and  possibly  for 
Sebenico  on  the  ground  of  their  preponderantly 
Italian  character,  I  believe  that  she  is  prepared 
to  abandon  her  original  claims  to  Dalmatia, 
which  is,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  almost 
purely  Slavonian,  Jugoslavia  thus  obtaining 
nearly  550  miles  of  coast.  Now  I  will  be  quite 
frank  and  say  that  when  I  went  to  Dalmatia  I 
was  strongly  opposed  to  the  extension  of  Italian 
rule  over  that  region.  And  I  still  believe  that 
it  would  be  a  political  mistake.  But,  after  see- 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  105 

ing  the  country  from  end  to  end  and  talking 
with  the  Italian  officials  who  have  been  tem- 
porarily charged  with  its  administration,  I  have 
become  convinced  that  they  have  the  best  in- 
terests of  the  people  genuinely  at  heart  and 
that  the  Dalmatians  might  do  worse,  so  far  as 
justice  and  progress  are  concerned,  than  to  in- 
trust their  future  to  the  guidance  of  such  men. 
It  had  been  our  original  intention  to  steam 
straight  south  from  Spalato  to  the  Bocche  di 
Cattaro  and  Montenegro,  but,  being  foot-loose 
and  free  and  having  plenty  of  coal  in  the  Sirio's 
bunkers,  we  decided  to  make  a  detour  in  order 
to  visit  the  Curzolane  Islands.  In  case  you  can- 
not recall  its  precise  situation,  I  might  remind 
you  that  the  Curzolane  Archipelago,  consist- 
ing of  several  good-sized  islands — Brazza, 
Lesina,  Lissa,  Melida,  and  Curzola — and  a 
great  number  of  smaller  ones,  lies  off  the  Dal- 
matian coast,  almost  opposite  Ragusa.  From 
Spalato  we  laid  our  course  due  south,  past  Solta, 
famed  for  its  honey  produced  from  rosemary 
and  the  cistus-rose;  skirted  the  wooded  shores 
of  Brazza,  the  largest  island  of  the  group, 
rounded  Capo  Pellegrino  and  entered  the  lovely 
harbor  of  Lesina.  We  did  not  anchor  but, 


io6     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

slowing  to  half-speed,  made  the  circuit  of  the 
little  port,  running  close  enough  to  the  shore 
to  obtain  pictures  of  the  famous  Loggia  built 
by  Sanmicheli,  the  Fondazo',  the  ancient  Vene- 
tian arsenal,  and  the  crumbling  Spanish  fort, 
perched  high  on  a  crag  above  the  town.  Then 
south  by  west  again,  past  Lissa,  the  western- 
most island  of  the  group,  where  an  Italian  fleet 
under  Persano  was  defeated  and  destroyed  by 
an  Austrian  squadron  under  Tegetthof  in  1866. 
A  marble  lion  in  the  local  cemetery  commemo- 
rated the  victory  and  marked  the  resting-places 
of  the  Austrian  dead,  but  when  the  Italians  took 
possession  of  the  island  after  the  Armistice 
they  changed  the  inscription  on  the  monument 
so  that  it  now  commemorates  their  final  victory 
over  Austria.  It  was  not,  I  think,  a  very  sports- 
manlike proceeding. 

Leaving  Lissa  to  starboard,  we  steamed 
through  the  Canale  di  Sabbioncello,  with 
exquisite  panoramas  unrolling  on  either  hand, 
and  dropped  anchor  off  the  quay  of  Curzola, 
where  the  governor  of  the  islands,  Admiral 
Piazza,  awaited  us  with  his  staff.  In  spite  of 
the  bleakness  of  the  surrounding  mountains, 
Curzola  is  one  of  the  most  exquisitely  beautiful 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  107 

little  towns  that  I  have  ever  seen.  The  next 
time  you  are  in  the  Adriatic  you  should  not  fail 
to  go  there.  Time  and  the  hand  of  man — for 
the  people  are  a  color-loving  race — have  given 
many  tints,  soft  and  bright,  to  its  roofs,  towers, 
and  ramparts.  It  is  a  town  of  dim,  narrow, 
winding  streets,  of  steep  flights  of  worn  stone 
steps,  of  moss-covered  archways,  and  of  some 
of  the  most  splendid  specimens  of  the  domestic 
architecture  of  the  Middle  Ages  that  exist  out- 
side of  the  Street  of  the  Crusaders  in  Rhodes. 
The  sole  modern  touches  are  the  costumes  of 
the  islanders,  and  they  are  sufficiently  pic- 
turesque not  to  spoil  the  picture.  How  the  place 
has  escaped  the  motion-picture  people  I  fail 
to  understand.  (As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  hasn't, 
for  I  took  with  me  an  operator  and  a  camera 
— the  first  the  islanders  had  ever  seen.)  Be- 
sides the  Cathedral  of  San  Marco,  with  its 
splendid  doors,  its  exquisitely  carved  choir- 
stalls  black  with  age  and  use,  its  choir  balustrade 
and  pulpit  of  translucent  alabaster,  and  its  dim 
old  altar-piece  by  Tintoretto,  the  town  boasts 
the  Loggia  or  council  chambers,  the  palace  of 
the  Venetian  governors,  the  noble  mansion  of 
the  Arnieri,  and,  brooding  over  all,  a  towering 


io8     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

campanile,  five  centuries  old.  The  Lion  of  St. 
Mark,  which  appears  on  several  of  the  public 
buildings,  holds  beneath  its  paw  a  closed  instead 
of  an  open  book — symbolizing,  so  I  was  told, 
the  islanders'  dissatisfaction  with  certain  laws 
of  the  Venetians. 

But  the  phase  of  my  visit  which  I  enjoyed 
the  most  was  when  Admiral  Piazza  took  us 
across  the  bay,  on  a  Detroit-built  submarine- 
chaser,  to  a  Franciscan  monastery  dating  from 
the  fifteenth  century.  We  were  met  by  the 
abbot  at  the  water-stairs,  and,  after  being 
shown  the  beautiful  Venetian  Gothic  cloisters, 
with  alabaster  columns  whose  carving  was  al- 
most lacelike  in  its  delicate  tracery,  we  were 
led  along  a  wooded  path  beside  the  sea,  over 
a  carpet  of  pine-needles,  to  a  cloistered  rose- 
garden,  in  which  stood,  amid  a  bower  of  blos- 
soms, a  blue  and  white  statue  of  the  Virgin. 
The  fragrance  of  the  flowers  in  the  little  en- 
closure was  like  the  incense  in  a  church,  above 
our  heads  the  great  pines  formed  a  canopy  of 
green,  and  the  music  was  furnished  by  the  birds 
and  the  murmuring  sea.  Here  we  seemed  a 
world  away  from  the  waiting  armies  and  the 
great  gray  battleships,  from  the  quarrels  of 


BORDERLAND— SLAV  AND  LATIN  109 

Latin  and  Slav.  It  was  the  first  real  peace  that 
I  had  known  after  five  years  of  war,  and  I 
should  have  liked  to  remain  there  longer.  But 
Montenegro,  Albania,  Macedonia,  all  the  un- 
happy, war-torn  lands  of  the  Near  East  lay 
before  me,  and  I  turned  reluctantly  away.  But 
my  thoughts  keep  harking  back  to  the  little 
town  beside  the  turquoise  bay,  to  the  restful- 
ness  of  its  old,  old  buildings,  to  the  perfume  of 
its  flowers,  and  the  whispering  voice  of  its 
turquoise  sea.  So  some  day,  when  the  world 
is  really  at  peace  and  there  are  no  more  wars 
to  write  about,  I  think  that  I  shall  go  back  to 
where 

"Far,  far  from  here, 
The  Adriatic  breaks  in  a  warm  bay 
Among  the  green   Illyrian  hills." 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES 

WE  stood  on  the  forward  deck  of  the 
Sirio  as  she  slipped  southward,  through 
the  placid  waters  of  the  Adriatic,  at  twenty 
knots  an  hour.  Less  than  a  league  away  the 
Balkan  mountains,  savage,  mysterious,  for- 
bidding, rose  in  a  rocky  rampart  against  the 
eastern  sky. 

"Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,"  remarked  the 
Italian  officer  who  stood  beside  me,  a  noted 
historian  in  his  own  land,  "that  four  great 
empires  have  died  as  a  result  of  their  lust  for 
domination  over  the  wretched  lands  which  lie 
beyond  those  mountains?  Austria  coveted  Ser- 
bia— and  the  empire  of  the  Hapsburgs  is  in 
fragments  now.  Russia,  seeing  her  influence  in 
the  peninsula  imperiled,  hastened  to  the  sup- 
port of  her  fellow  Slavs — but  Russia  has  gone 
down  in  red  ruin,  and  the  Romanoffs  are  dead. 
no 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    in 

Germany,  seeking  a  gateway  to  the  warm  water, 
and  a  highway  to  the  East,  seized  on  the  ex- 
cuse thus  offered  to  launch  her  waiting  armies 
— and  the  empire  reared  by  the  Hohenzollerns 
is  bankrupt  and  broken.  Turkey  fought  to  re- 
tain her  hold  on  such  European  territory  as 
still  remained  under  the  crescent  banner.  To- 
day a  postmortem  is  about  to  be  held  on  the 
Turkish  Empire  and  the  House  of  Osman. 
Think  of  it !  Four  great  empires,  four  ancient 
dynasties,  lie  buried  over  there  in  the  Balkans. 
It  is  something  more  than  a  range  of  mountains 
at  which  we  are  looking;  it  is  the  wall  of  a 
cemetery." 

Rada  di  Antivari  is  a  U-shaped  bay,  the  color 
of  a  turquoise,  from  whose  shores  the  Monte- 
negrin mountains  rise  in  tiers,  like  the  seats  of 
an  arena.  We  put  in  there  unexpectedly  because 
a  bora,  sweeping  suddenly  down  from  the 
northwest,  had  lashed  the  Adriatic  into  an  ugly 
mood  and  our  destroyer,  whose  decks  were  al- 
most as  near  the  water  as  those  of  a  submarine 
running  awash,  was  not  a  craft  that  one  would 
choose  for  comfort  in  such  weather.  Nor  was 
our  feeling  of  security  increased  by  the  knowl- 
edge that  we  were  skirting  the  edges  of  one  of 


ii2     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

the  largest  mine-fields  in  the  Adriatic.  But  the 
Sirio  had  scarcely  poked  her  sharp  nose  around 
the  end  of  the  breakwater  which  provides  the 
excuse  for  dignifying  the  exposed  roadstead  of 
Antivari  (with  the  accent  on  the  second 
syllable,  so  that  it  rhymes  with  "discovery") 
by  the  name  of  harbor  before  I  saw  what  we 
had  stumbled  upon  some  form  of  trouble. 
There  were  three  other  Italian  destroyers  in 
the  harbor  but,  instead  of  being  moored  snugly 
alongside  the  quay,  they  were  strung  out  in  a 
semblance  of  battle  formation,  so  that  their 
deck-guns,  from  which  the  canvas  muzzle-covers 
had  been  removed,  could  sweep  the  rocky 
heights  above  and  around  them.  A  string  of 
signal-flags  broke  out  from  our  masthead  and 
was  answered  in  like  fashion  by  the  flag-ship  of 
the  flotilla,  after  which  formal  exchange  of 
greetings  our  wireless  began  to  crackle  and 
splutter  in  an  animated  explanation  of  our  un- 
expected appearance.  Our  hawsers  had  scarce- 
ly been  made  fast  before  a  launch  left  the  flag- 
ship and  came  plowing  toward  us,  a  knot  of 
white-uniformed  officers  in  the  stern.  From 
the  blue  rug  with  the  Italian  arms,  which,  as  I 
could  see  through  my  glasses,  was  draped  over 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    113 

the  stern-sheets,  I  deduced  that  the  commander 
of  the  flotilla  was  paying  us  a  visit. 

"You  have  come  at  rather  an  unfortunate 
moment,"  he  said  after  the  introductions  were 
over.  "Last  night  we  were  fired  on  by  Jugo- 
slavs on  the  mountainside  over  there,"  indicat- 
ing the  heights  across  the  harbor.  "In  fact, 
the  firing  has  just  ceased.  There  must  have 
been  a  thousand  of  them  or  more,  judging  from 
the  flashes.  But  I  hope  that  madame  will  not 
be  alarmed,  for  she  is  really  quite  safe.  They 
are  firing  at  long  range,  and  the  only  danger  is 
from  a  stray  bullet.  Still,  it  is  most  embarrass- 
ing. On  madame's  account  I  am  sorry." 

His  manner  was  that  of  a  host  apologizing 
to  a  guest  because  the  children  of  the  family 
have  measles  and  at  the  same  time  attempting 
to  convince  the  guest  that  measles  are  hardly 
ever  contagious.  I  relieved  his  quite  obvious 
embarrassment  by  assuring  him  that  Mrs. 
Powell  much  preferred  taking  chances  with 
snipers'  bullets  to  the  discomfort  of  a  destroyer 
in  an  ugly  sea,  and  that,  having  journeyed  six 
thousand  miles  for  the  express  purpose  of  see- 
ing what  was  happening  in  the  Balkans,  we 


ii4     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

would  be  disappointed  if  nothing  happened 
at  all. 

When  I  left  Paris  for  the  Adriatic  I  carried 
with  me  the  impression,  as  the  result  of  con- 
versations with  members  of  the  various  peace 
delegations,  that  the  people  of  Montenegro 
were  almost  unanimously  in  favor  of  annexa- 
tion to  Serbia,  thereby  becoming  a  part  of  the 
new  Kingdom  of  the  Serbs,  Croats,  and  Slov- 
enes. But  before  I  had  spent  twenty-four  hours 
in  Montenegro  itself  I  discovered  that  on  the 
subject  of  the  political  future  of  their  little  coun- 
try the  Montenegrins  are  very  far  from  being 
of  the  same  mind.  And,  being  a  simple, 
primitive  folk,  and  strong  believers  in  the 
superiority  of  the  bullet  to  the  ballot,  instead 
of  sitting  down  and  arguing  the  matter,  they 
take  cover  behind  a  convenient  rock  and,  when 
their  political  opponents  pass  by,  take  pot-shots 
at  them. 

My  preconceived  opinions  about  political 
conditions  in  Montenegro  were  largely  based 
on  the  knowledge  that  shortly  after  the  signing 
of  the  Armistice  a  Montenegrin  National  As- 
sembly, so  called,  had  met  at  Podgoritza,  and, 
after  declaring  itself  in  favor  of  the  deposition 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    115 

of  King  Nicholas  and  the  Petrovitch  dynasty, 
which  has  ruled  in  Montenegro  since  William 
of  Orange  sat  on  the  throne  of  England,  voted 
for  the  union  of  Montenegro  with  the  Kingdom 
of  the  Serbs,  Croats,  and  Slovenes.  Just  how 
representative  of  the  real  sentiments  of  the 
nation  was  this  assembly  I  do  not  know,  but 
that  the  sentiment  in  favor  of  such  a  surrender 
of  Montenegrin  independence  is  far  from  being 
overwhelming  would  seem  to  be  proved  by  the 
fact  that  the  Serbs,  in  order  to  hold  the  terri- 
tory thus  given  to  them,  have  found  it  necessary 
to  install  a  Serbian  military  governor  in 
Cetinje,  to  replace  by  Serbs  all  the  Montenegrin 
prefects,  to  raise  a  special  gendarmerie  re- 
cruited from  men  who  are  known  to  be  friendly 
to  Serbia  and  officered  by  Serbs,  and  to  occupy 
this  sister-state,  which,  it  is  alleged,  requested 
union  with  Serbia  of  its  own  free  will,  with  two 
battalions  of  Serbian  infantry.  If  Montenegrin 
sentiment  for  the  union  is  as  overwhelming  as 
Belgrade  claims,  then  it  seems  to  me  that  the 
Serbs  are  acting  in  a  rather  high-handed 
fashion. 

I  talked  with  a  good  many  people  while  I 
was  in  Montenegro,  and  I  was  especially  care- 


n6    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

ful  not  to  meet  them  through  the  medium  of 
either  Serbs  or  Italians.  From  these  conversa- 
tions I  learned  that  the  Montenegrins  are  di- 
vided into  three  factions.  The  first  of  these, 
and  the  smallest,  desires  the  return  of  the 
King.  It  represents  the  old  conservative  ele- 
ment and  is  composed  of  the  men  who  have 
fought  under  him  in  many  wars.  The  second 
faction,  which  is  the  noisiest  and  at  present 
holds  the  reins  of  power,  advocates  the  annex- 
ation of  Montenegro  to  Serbia  and  the  deposi- 
tion of  King  Nicholas  in  favor  of  the  Serbian 
Prince-Regent  Alexander.  The  third  party, 
which,  though  it  has  no  means  of  making  its 
desires  known,  is,  I  am  inclined  to  believe,  the 
largest,  and  which  numbers  among  its  support- 
ers the  most  level-headed  and  far-seeing  men 
in  the  country,  while  frankly  distrustful  of  Ser- 
bian ambitions  and  unwilling  to  submit  to  Ser- 
bian dictatorship,  possesses  sufficient  vision  to 
recognize  the  political  and  commercial  ad- 
vantages which  would  accrue  to  Montenegro 
were  she  to  become  an  equal  partner  in  a  con- 
federation of  those  Jugoslav  countries  which 
claim  the  same  racial  origin.  Most  thoughtful 
Montenegrins  have  always  been  in  favor  of  a 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    117 

union  of  all  the  southern  Slavs,  along  the  gen- 
eral lines,  perhaps,  of  the  Germanic  Con- 
federation, but  this  must  not  be  interpreted  as 
implying  that  they  are  in  favor  of  a  union 
merely  of  Montenegro  with  Serbia,  which 
would  mean  the  absorption  of  the  smaller  coun« 
try  by  the  larger  one.  They  are  determined 
that,  if  such  a  confederation  is  brought  about, 
Serbia  shall  not  occupy  the  dictatorial  position 
which  Prussia  did  in  Germany,  and  that  the 
Karageorgevitches  shall  not  play  a  role  analo- 
gous to  that  of  the  Hohenzollerns.  Montenegro, 
remember,  threw  off  the  Turkish  yoke  a  cen- 
tury and  three-quarters  before  Serbia  was  able 
to  achieve  her  liberty,  and  the  patriotic  among 
her  people  feel  that  this  hard-won,  long-held 
independence  should  not  lightly  be  thrown 
away. 

It  is  not  generally  known,  perhaps,  that,  when 
Austria  declared  war  on  Serbia  in  August,  1914, 
an  offensive  and  defensive  alliance  already 
existed  between  Serbia,  Greece,  and  Monte- 
negro. We  know  how  highly  Greece  valued 
her  signature  to  that  treaty.  Montenegro,  with 
an  area  two-thirds  that  of  New  Jersey,  and  a 
population  less  than  that  of  Milwaukee,  could 


n8     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

easily  have  used  her  weakness  as  an  excuse  for 
standing  aside,  like  Greece.  Very  likely  Aus- 
tria would  not  have  molested  her  and  the  little 
country  would  have  been  spared  the  horrors  of 
a  third  war  within  two  years.  But  King 
Nicholas's  conception  of  what  constituted 
loyalty  and  honor  was  different  from  Constan- 
tine's.  Instead  of  accepting  the  extensive  ter- 
ritorial compensations  offered  by  the  Austrian 
envoy  if  Montenegro  would  remain  neutral, 
King  Nicholas  wired  to  the  Serbian  Premier, 
M.  Pachitch:  "Serbia  may  rely  on  the  brotherly 
and  unconditional  support  of  Montenegro  in 
this  moment,  on  which  depends  the  fate  of  the 
Serbian  nation,  as  well  as  on  any  other  oc- 
casion," and  took  the  field  at  the  head  of  40,- 

000  troops — all  the  men  able  to  bear  arms  in 
the  little  kingdom. 

It  has  been  repeatedly  asserted  by  his 
enemies  that  King  Nicholas  sold  out  to  the 
Austrians  and  that,  therefore,  he  deserves 
neither  sympathy  nor  consideration.  As  to  this 

1  have  no  direct  knowledge.     How  could  I? 
But,  after  talking  with  nearly  all  of  the  lead- 
ing actors  in  the  Montenegrin  drama,  it  is  my 
personal  belief  that  the  King,  though  guilty  of 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    119 

many  indiscretions  and  errors  of  policy,  did  not 
betray  his  people.  I  am  not  ignorant  of  the 
King's  shortcomings  in  other  respects.  But  in 
this  case  I  believe  that  he  has  been  grossly 
maligned.  If  he  did  sell  out  he  drove  an  ex- 
tremely poor  bargain,  for  he  is  living  in  exile, 
in  extremely  straitened  circumstances,  his  only 
luxury  a  car  which  the  French  Government 
loans  him.  It  is  difficult  to  believe  that,  had 
he  been  a  traitor  to  the  Allied  cause,  the  Brit- 
ish, French,  and  Italian  governments  would 
continue  to  recognize  him,  to  pay  him  subven- 
tions, and  to  treat  him  as  a  ruling  sovereign. 
Certain  American  diplomats  have  told  me  that 
they  were  convinced  that  the  King  had  a  secret 
understanding  with  Austria,  though  they  ad- 
mitted quite  frankly  that  their  convictions  were 
based  on  suspicions  which  they  could  not  prove. 
To  offset  this,  a  very  exalted  personage,  whose 
name  for  obvious  reasons  I  cannot  mention,  but 
whose  integrity  and  whose  sources  of  informa- 
tion are  beyond  question,  has  given  me  his  word 
that,  to  his  personal  knowledge,  Nicholas  had 
neither  a  treaty  nor  a  secret  understanding  with 
the  enemy. 
.  "The  propaganda  against  him  had  been  so 


120    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

insidious  and  successful,  however,"  my  inform- 
ant concluded,  "that  even  his  own  soldiers  were 
convinced  that  he  had  sold  out  to  Austria  and 
when  the  King  attempted  to  rally  them  as  they 
were  falling  back  from  the  positions  on  Mount 
Lovtchen  they  jeered  in  his  face,  shouting  that 
he  had  betrayed  them.  Yet  I,  who  was  on  the 
spot  and  who  am  familiar  with  all  the  facts, 
give  you  my  personal  assurance  that  he  had 
not." 

Nor  did  the  King  give  up  his  sword  to  the 
Austrian  commander  at  Grahovo,  as  was  re- 
ported in  the  European  press.  When,  with 
three-quarters  of  his  country  overrun  by  the 
Austrians,  his  chief  of  staff,  Colonel  Pierre 
Pechitch  of  the  Serbian  Army,  reported  "Hence- 
forth all  resistance  and  all  fighting  against  the 
enemy  is  impossible.  There  is  no  chance  of  the 
situation  improving"  King  Nicholas,  in  the 
words  of  Baron  Sonnino,  then  Italian  Foreign 
Minister,  "preferred  to  withdraw  into  exile 
rather  than  sign  a  separate  peace." 

I  may  be  wrong  in  my  conclusions,  of  course ; 
the  cabinet  ministers  and  the  ambassadors  and 
the  generals  in  whose  honor  and  truthfulness 
I  believe  may  have  deliberately  deceived  me, 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    121 

but,  after  a  most  painstaking  and  conscientious 
investigation,  I  am  convinced  that  we  have  been 
misinformed  and  blinded  by  a  propaganda 
against  King  Nicholas  and  his  people  which 
has  rarely  been  equaled  in  audacity  of  untruth 
and  dexterity  of  misrepresentation.  To  em- 
ploy the  methods  used  by  certain  Balkan 
politicians  in  thier  attempted  elimination  of 
Montenegro  as  an  independent  nation  even 
Tammany  Hall  would  be  ashamed. 

When,  upon  the  occupation  of  Montenegro 
by  the  Austrians,  the  King  fled  to  France  and 
established  his  government  at  Neuilly,  near 
Paris — just  as  the  fugitive  Serbian  Government 
was  established  at  Corfu  and  the  Belgian  at  Le 
Havre — England,  France,  and  Italy  entered 
into  an  agreement  to  pay  him  a  subvention,  for 
the  maintenance  of  himself  and  his  government, 
until  such  time  as  the  status  of  Montenegro  was 
definitely  settled  by  the  Peace  Conference. 
England  ceased  paying  her  share  of  this  sub- 
vention early  in  the  spring  of  1919.  When,  a 
few  weeks  later,  it  was  announced  that  King 
Nicholas  was  preparing  to  go  to  Italy  to  visit 
his  daughter,  Queen  Elena,  the  French  Min- 
ister to  the  court  of  Montenegro  bluntly  in- 


122     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

formed  him  that  the  French  Government  re- 
garded his  proposed  visit  to  Italy  as  the  first 
step  toward  his  return  to  Montenegro,  and 
that,  should  he  cross  the  French  frontier,  France 
would  immediately  break  off  diplomatic  rela- 
tions with  Montenegro  and  cease  paying  her 
share  of  the  subvention.  This  would  seem  to 
bear  out  the  assertion,  which  I  heard  every- 
where in  the  Balkans,  that  France  is  bending 
every  effort  toward  building  up  a  strong  Jugo- 
slavia in  order  to  offset  Italy's  territorial  and 
commercial  ambitions  in  the  peninsula.  The 
French  indignantly  repudiate  the  suggestion 
that  they  are  coercing  the  Montenegrin  King. 

"How  absurd!"  exclaimed  the  officials  with 
whom  I  talked.  "We  holding  King  Nicholas 
a  prisoner?  The  idea  is  preposterous.  So  far 
as  France  is  concerned,  he  can  return  to  Monte- 
negro whenever  he  chooses." 

Still,  their  protestations  were  not  entirely 
convincing.  Their  attitude  reminded  me  of  the 
millionaire  whose  daughter,  it  was  rumored, 
had  eloped  with  the  family  chauffeur. 

"Sure,  she  can  marry  him  if  she  wants  to," 
he  told  the  reporters.  "I  have  no  objection. 
She  is  free,  white,  and  twenty-one.  But  if  she 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    123 

does  marry  him  I'll  stop  her  allowance,  cut 
her  out  of  my  will,  and  never  speak  to  her 
again." 

Because  it  has  been  my  privilege  to  know 
many  sovereigns  and  because  I  have  been  hon- 
ored with  the  confidence  of  several  of  them,  I 
have  become  to  a  certain  extent  immune  from 
the  spell  which  seems  to  be  exercised  upon  the 
commoner  by  personal  contact  with  the  Lord's 
anointed.  Save  when  I  have  had  some  definite 
mission  to  accomplish,  I  have  never  had  any 
overwhelming  desire  "to  grasp  the  hand  that 
shook  the  hand  of  John  L.  Sullivan."  To  me 
it  seems  an  impertinence  to  take  the  time  of 
busy  men  merely  for  the  sake  of  being  able  to 
boast  about  it  afterward  to  your  friends.  But 
because,  during  my  travels  in  Jugoslavia,  I 
heard  King  Nicholas  repeatedly  denounced  by 
Serbian  officials  with  far  more  bitterness  than 
they  employed  toward  their  late  enemies  and 
oppressors,  the  Hapsburgs,  I  was  frankly  eager 
for  an  opportunity  to  form  my  own  opinions 
about  Montengro's  aged  ruler.  The  oppor- 
tunity came  when,  upon  my  return  to  Paris,  I 
was  informed  that  the  King  wished  to  meet  me, 
he  being  desirous,  I  suppose,  of  talking  with 


i24    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

one  who  had  come  so  recently  from  his  own 
country. 

At  that  time  the  King,  with  the  Queen,  Prince 
Peter,  and  his  two  unmarried  daughters,  was 
occupying  a  modest  suite  in  the  Hotel  Meurice, 
in  the  rue  de  Rivoli.  He  received  me  in  a  large, 
sun-flooded  room  overlooking  the  Tuileries 
Gardens.  The  bald,  broad-shouldered,  rather 
bent  old  man  in  the  blue  serge  suit,  with  a  tin 
ear-trumpet  in  his  hand,  who  rose  from  behind 
a  great  flat-:opped  desk  to  greet  me,  was  a 
startling  cc  itrast  to  the  tall  and  vigorous 
figure,  in  tie  picturesque  dress  of  a  Monte- 
negrin chieftain,  whom  I  had  seen  in  Cetinje 
before  the  war.  I  looked  at  him  with  interest, 
for  he  has  been  on  the  throne  longer  than  any 
living  sovereign,  he  is  the  father-in-law  of  two 
Kings,  and  is  connected  by  marriage  with  half 
the  roya'  houses  of  Europe,  and  he  is  the  last 
of  that  long  line  of  patriarch-rulers  who,  lead- 
ing thei  armies  in  person,  have  for  more  than 
two  cei  turies  maintained  the  independence  of 
the  Black  Mountain  and  its  people. 

King  Nicholas,  as  is  generally  known,  has 
been  -emarkably  successful  in  marrying  off  his 
daughters,  two  of  them  having  married  Kings, 


HIS   MAJESTY  NICHOLAS  I,   KING  OF   MONTENEGRO 

He  has  been  on  the  throne  longer  than  any  living  sovereign,  he  is  the  father-in-law  of 
two  kings,  and  is  connected  by  marriage  with  half  the  royal  houses  of  Europe 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    125 

two  others  grand  dukes,  while  a  fifth  became 
the  wife  of  a  Battenberg  prince.  Remembering 
this,  I  was  sorely  tempted  to  ask  the  King  as  to 
the  truth  of  a  story  which  I  had  heard  in  Cetinje 
years  before.  An  English  visitor  to  the  Monte- 
negrin capital  had  been  invited  to  lunch  at  the 
palace.  During  the  meal  the  King  asked  his 
guest  his  impressions  of  Montenegro. 

"Its  scenery  is  magnificent,"  was  the  answer. 
"Its  women  are  as  beautiful  and  its  men  as 
handsome  as  any  I  have  ever  seen.  Their  cos- 
tumes are  marvelously  picturesque.  But  the 
country  appears  to  have  no  exports,  your 
Majesty." 

"Ah,  my  friend,"  replied  the  King,  his  eyes 
twinkling,  "you  forget  my  daughters." 

Another  story,  which  illustrates  the  King's 
quick  wit,  was  told  me  by  his  Majesty  himself. 
When,  some  years  before  the  Great  War,  Em- 
peror Francis  Joseph,  on  a  yachting  cruise  down 
the  Adriatic,  dropped  anchor  in  the  Bocche  di 
Cattaro,  the  Montenegrin  mountaineers  cele- 
brated the  imperial  visit  by  lighting  bonfires  on 
their  mountain  peaks,  a  mile  above  the  harbor. 

"I  see  that  you  dwell  in  the  clouds,"  re- 
marked Francis  Joseph  to  Nicholas,  as  they 


126    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

stood  on  the  deck  of  the  yacht  after  dinner 
watching  the  pin-points  of  flame  twinkling  high 
above  them. 

"Where  else  can  I  live?"  responded  the 
Montenegrin  ruler.  "Austria  holds  the  sea; 
Turkey  holds  the  land;  the  sky  is  all  that  is 
left  for  Montenegro." 

One  of  the  things  which  the  King  told  me 
during  our  conversation  will,  I  think,  interest 
Americans.  He  said  that  when  President  Wil- 
son arrived  in  Paris  he  sent  him  an  autograph 
letter,  congratulating  him  on  the  great  part  he 
had  played  in  bringing  peace  to  the  world  and 
requesting  a  personal  interview. 

"But  he  never  granted  me  the  interview," 
said  the  King  sadly.  "In  fact,  he  never  ac- 
knowledged my  letter." 

I  attempted  to  bridge  over  the  embarrassing 
pause  by  suggesting  that  perhaps  the  letter  had 
never  been  received,  but  he  waved  aside  the 
suggestion  as  unworthy  of  consideration.  I 
gathered  from  what  he  said  that  royal  letters 
do  not  miscarry. 

"I  realize  that  I  am  an  old  man  and  that  my 
country  is  a  very  small  and  unimportant  one," 
he  continued,  "while  your  President  is  the  ruler 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    127 

of  a  great  country  and  a  very  busy  man.  Still, 
we  in  Montenegro  had  heard  so  much  of  Amer- 
ica's chivalrous  attitude  toward  small,  weak  na- 
tions that  I  was  unduly  disappointed,  perhaps, 
when  my  letter  was  ignored.  I  felt  that  my  age, 
and  the  fact  that  I  have  occupied  the  throne  of 
Montenegro  for  sixty  years,  entitled  me  to  the 
consideration  of  a  reply/' 

But  we  have  strayed  far  from  the  road 
which  we  were  traveling.  Let  us  get  back  to 
the  people  of  the  mountains ;  I  like  them  better 
than  the  politicians.  Antivari,  which  nestles  in 
a  hollow  of  the  hills,  three  or  four  miles  inland 
from  the  port  of  the  same  name,  is  one  of  the 
most  fascinating  little  towns  in  all  the  Balkans. 
Its  narrow,  winding,  cobble-paved  streets, 
shaded  by  canopies  of  grapevines  and  bordered 
by  rows  of  squat,  red-tiled  houses,  their  plas- 
tered walls  tinted  pale  blue,  bright  pink  or  yel- 
low, and  the  amazingly  picturesque  costumes  of 
its  inhabitants — slender,  stately  Montenegrin 
women  in  long  coats  of  turquoise-colored  broad- 
cloth piped  with  crimson,  Bosnians  in  skin-tight 
breeches  covered  with  arabesques  of  braid  and 
jackets  heavy  with  embroidery,  Albanians  wear- 
ing the  starched  and  pleated  skirts  of  linen 


128     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

known  as  fustanellas  and  comitadjis  with  car- 
tridge-filled bandoliers  slung  across  their  chests 
and  their  sashes  bristling  with  assorted 
weapons,  priests  of  the  Orthodox  Church  with 
uncut  hair  and  beards,  wearing  hats  that  look 
like  inverted  stovepipes,  hook-nosed,  white- 
bearded,  patriarchal-looking  Turks  in  flowing 
robes  and  snowy  turbans,  fierce-faced,  keen- 
eyed  mountain  herdsmen  in  fur  caps  and  coats 
of  sheepskin — all  these  combined  to  make  me 
feel  that  I  had  intruded  upon  the  stage  of  a 
theater  during  a  musical  comedy  performance, 
and  that  I  must  find  the  exit  and  escape  before 
I  was  discovered  by  the  stage-manager.  If 
David  Belasco  ever  visits  Antivari  he  will  prob- 
ably try  to  buy  the  place  bodily  and  transport 
it  to  East  Forty-fourth  Street  and  write  a  play 
around  it. 

There  were  two  gentlemen  in  Antivari  whose 
actions  gave  me  unalloyed  delight.  One  of 
them,  so  I  was  told,  was  the  head  of  the  local 
anti-Serbian  faction;  the  other,  a  human  arsenal 
with  weapons  sprouting  from  his  person  like 
leaves  from  an  artichoke,  was  the  chief  of  a 
notorious  band  of  comitadjis,  as  the  Balkan 
guerillas  are  called.  They  walked  up  and  down 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    129 

the  main  street  of  Antivari,  arms  over  each 
other's  shoulders,  heads  close  together,  lost  in 
conversation,  but.  glancing  quickly  over  their 
shoulders  every  now  and  then  to  see  if  they 
were  in  danger  of  being  overheard,  exactly  like 
the  plotters  in  a  motion-picture  play.  From 
the  earnestness  of  their  conversation,  the 
obvious  awe  in  which  they  were  held  by  the 
townspeople,  and  the  suspicious  looks  cast  in 
their  direction  by  the  Serbian  gendarmes,  I 
gathered  that  in  the  near  future  things  were 
going  to  happen  in  that  region.  Approaching 
them,  I  haltingly  explained,  in  the  few  words 
of  Serbian  at  my  command,  that  I  was  an 
American  and  that  I  wished  to  photograph 
them.  Upon  comprehending  my  request  they 
debated  the  question  for  some  moments,  then 
shook  their  heads  decisively.  It  was  evident 
that,  in  view  of  what  they  had  in  mind,  they 
considered  it  imprudent  to  have  their  pictures 
floating  around  as  a  possible  means  of  identifi- 
cation. But  while  they  were  discussing  the  mat- 
ter I  took  the  liberty,  without  their  knowledge, 
of  photographing  them  anyway.  It  was  as  well, 
perhaps,  that  they  did  not  see  me  do  it,  for 
the  comitadji  chieftain  had  a  long  knife,  two 


130    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

revolvers,  and  four  hand-grenades  in  his  belt 
and  a  rifle  slung  over  his  shoulder. 

From  Antivari  to  Valona  by  sea  is  about  as 
far  as  from  New  York  to  Albany  by  the  Hud- 
son, so  that,  leaving  the  Montenegrin  port  in 
the  early  morning,  we  had  no  difficulty  in  reach- 
ing the  Albanian  one  before  sunset.  Before  the 
war  Valona — which,  by  the  way,  appears  as 
Avlona  on  most  American-made  maps — was  an 
insignificant  fishing  village,  but  upon  Italy's  oc- 
cupation of  Albania  it  became  a  military  base  of 
great  importance.  Whenever  we  had  touched 
on  our  journey  down  the  coast  we  had  been 
warned  against  going  to  Valona  because  of  the 
danger  of  contracting  fever.  The  town  stands 
on  the  edge  of  a  marsh  bordering  the  shore 
and,  as  no  serious  attempt  has  been  made  to 
drain  the  marsh  or  to  clean  up  the  town  itself, 
about  sixty  per  cent  of  the  troops  stationed 
there  are  constantly  suffering  from  a  peculiarly 
virulent  form  of  malaria,  similar  to  the  Chagres 
fever  of  the  Isthmus.  The  danger  of  contract- 
ing it  was  apparently  considered  very  real,  for, 
before  we  had  been  an  hour  in  the  quarters 
assigned  to  us,  officers  began  to  arrive  with 
safeguards  of  one  sort  or  another.  One  brought 


TWO   CONSPIRATORS  OF  ANTIVARI 

They  stood  lost  in  conversation,  heads  close  together,  exactly  like  the 
plotters  in  a  motion-picture  play 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    131 

screens  for  all  the  windows;  another  provided 
mosquito-bars  for  the  beds;  a  third  presented 
us  with  disinfectant  cubes,  which  we  were  to 
burn  in  our  rooms  several  times  each  day;  a 
fourth  made  us  a  gift  of  quinine  pills,  two  of 
which  we  were  to  take  hourly;  still  another  of 
our  hosts  appeared  with  a  dozen  bottles  of 
acqua  minerale  and  warned  us  not  to  drink  the 
local  water,  and,  finally,  to  ensure  us  against 
molestation  by  prowling  natives,  a  couple  of 
sentries  were  posted  beneath  our  windows. 

uValona  isn't  a  particularly  healthy  place  to 
live  in,  I  gather?"  I  remarked,  by  way  of  mak- 
ing conversation,  to  the  officer  who  was  our  host 
at  dinner  that  evening.  His  face  was  as  yellow 
as  old  parchment  and  he  was  shaking  with 
fever. 

"Well,"  he  reluctantly  admitted,  "you  must 
be  careful  not  to  be  bitten  by  a  mosquito  or  you 
will  get  malaria.  And  don't  drink  the  water 
or  you  will  contract  typhoid.  And  keep  away 
from  the  native  quarter,  for  there  is  always 
more  or  less  smallpox  in  the  bazaars.  And 
don't  go  wandering  around  the  town  after 
nightfall,  for  there's  always  a  chance  of  some 
fanatic  putting  a  knife  between  your  shoulders. 


132     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

Otherwise,  there  isn't  a  healthier  place  in  the 
world  than  Valona." 

Across  the  street  from  the  building  in  which 
we  were  quartered  was  a  large  mosque,  which, 
judging  from  the  scaffoldings  around  it,  was 
under  repair.  But  though  it  seemed  to  be  a 
large  and  important  mosque,  there  was  no  work 
going  forward  on  it.  I  commented  upon  this 
one  day  to  an  officer  with  whom  I  was  walk- 
ing. 

"Do  you  see  those  storks  up  there?"  he 
asked,  pointing  to  a  pair  of  long-legged  birds 
standing  beside  their  nest  on  the  dome  of  the 
mosque.  "The  stork  is  the  sacred  bird  of 
Albania  and  if  it  makes  its  nest  on  a  building 
which  is  in  course  of  construction  all  work  on 
that  building  ceases  as  long  as  the  stork  re- 
mains. A  barracks  we  were  erecting  was  held 
up  for  several  months  because  a  stork  decided 
to  make  its  nest  in  the  rafters,  whereupon  the 
native  workmen  threw  down  their  tools  and 
quit." 

"In  my  country  it  is  just  the  opposite,"  I 
observed.  "There,  when  the  stork  comes,  in- 
stead of  stopping  work  they  usually  begin  build- 
ing a  nursery." 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    133 

I  had  long  wished  to  cross  Albania  and  Ma- 
cedonia, from  the  Adriatic  to  the  ^Egean,  by 
motor,  but  the  nearer  we  had  drawn  to  Albania 
the  more  unlikely  this  project  had  seemed  of 
realization.  We  were  assured  that  there  were 
no  roads  in  the  interior  of  the  country  or  that 
such  roads  as  existed  were  quite  impassable  for 
anything  save  ox-carts;  that  the  country  had 
been  devastated  by  the  fighting  armies  and  that 
it  would  be  impossible  to  get  food  en  route; 
that  the  mountains  we  must  cross  were  fre- 
quented by  bandits  and  comitadjis  and  that  we 
would  be  exposed  to  attack  and  capture;  that, 
though  the  Italians  might  see  us  across  Albania, 
the  Serbian  and  Greek  frontier  guards  would 
not  permit  us  to  enter  Macedonia,  and,  as  a 
final  argument  against  the  undertaking,  we  were 
warned  that  the  whole  country  reeked  with 
fever.  But  when  I  told  the  Governor-General 
of  Albania,  General  Piacentini,  what  I  wished 
to  do  every  obstacle  disappeared  as  though  at 
the  wave  of  a  magician's  wand. 

"You  will  leave  Valona  early  to-morrow 
morning,"  he  said,  after  a  short  conference  with 
his  Chief  of  Staff.  "You  will  be  accompanied 
by  an  officer  of  my  staff  who  was  with  the  Ser- 


134     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

bian  army  on  its  retreat  across  Albania  to  the 
sea.  The  country  is  well  garrisoned  and  I  do 
not  anticipate  the  slightest  trouble,  but,  as  a 
measure  of  precaution,  a  detachment  of  soldiers 
will  follow  your  car  in  a  motor-truck.  You 
will  spend  the  first  night  at  Argirocastro,  the 
second  at  Ljaskoviki,  and  the  third  at  Koritza, 
which  is  occupied  by  the  French.  I  will  wire 
our  diplomatic  agent  there  to  make  arrange- 
ments with  the  Jugoslav  authorities  for  you  to 
cross  the  Serbian  border  to  Monastir,  where 
we  still  have  a  few  troops  engaged  in  salvage 
work.  South  of  Monastir  you  will  be  in  Greek 
territory,  but  I  will  wire  the  officer  in  command 
of  the  Italian  forces  at  Salonika  to  take  steps 
to  facilitate  your  journey  across  Macedonia  to 
the  ^Egean." 

This  journey  across  one  of  the  most  savage 
and  least-known  regions  in  all  Europe  was  ar- 
ranged as  simply  and  matter-of-factly  as  a  clerk 
in  a  tourist  bureau  would  plan  a  motor  trip 
through  the  White  Mountains.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  one  or  two  alterations  in  the  itin- 
erary made  necessary  by  tire  trouble,  the  jour- 
ney was  made  precisely  as  General  Piacentini 
planned  it  and  so  complete  were  the  arrange- 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    135 

ments  we  found  that  meals  and  sleeping  quar- 
ters had  been  prepared  for  us  in  tiny  mountain 
hamlets  whose  very  names  we  had  never  so 
much  as  heard  before. 

Until  its  occupation  by  the  Italians  in  1917 
Albania  was  not  only  the  least-known  region  in 
Europe;  it  was  one  of  the  least-known  regions 
in  the  world.  Within  sight  of  Italy,  it  was  less 
known  than  many  portions  of  Central  Asia  or 
Equatorial  Africa.  And  it  is  still  a  savage 
country;  a  land  but  little  changed  since  the  days 
of  Constantine  and  Diocletian;  a  land  that  for 
more  than  twenty  centuries  has  acknowledged 
no  master  and,  until  the  coming  of  the  Italians, 
had  known  no  law.  Prior  to  the  Italian  occu-  / 
pation  there  was  no  government  in  Albania  hi; 
the  sense  in  which  that  word  is  generally  used, 
there  being,  in  fact,  no  civil  government  now, 
the  tribal  organization  which  takes  its  place 
being  comparable  to  that  which  existed  in  Scot- 
land under  the  Stuart  Kings. 

The  term  Albanian  would  probably  pass  un- 
recognized by  the  great  majority  of  the  inhabi- 
tants, who  speak  of  themselves  as  Skipetars  and 
of  their  country  as  Sccupnj.  They  are,  most 
ethnologists  agree,  probably  the  most  ancient 


136     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

race  in  Europe,  there  being  every  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  they  are  the  lineal  descendants  of 
those  adventurous  Aryans  who,  leaving  the  an- 
cestral home  on  the  shores  of  the  Caspian, 
crossed  the  Caucasus  and  entered  Europe  in  the 
earliest  dawn  of  history.  One  of  the  tribes  of 
this  migrating  host,  straying  into  these  lonely 
vallefys,  settled  there  with  their  flocks  and  herds, 
living  the  same  life,  speaking  the  same  tongue, 
following  the  same  customs  as  their  Aryan  an- 
cestors, quite  indifferent  to  the  great  changes 
which  were  taking  place  in  the  world  without 
their  mountain  wall.  Certain  it  is  that  Albania 
was  already  an  ancient  nation  when  Greek  his- 
tory began.  Unlike  the  other  primitive  popu- 
lations of  the  Balkan  peninsula,  which  became 
in  time  either  Hellenized,  Latinized  or  Slavon- 
icized,  the  Albanians  have  remained  almost  un- 
affected by  foreign  influences.  It  strikes  me  as 
a  strange  thing  that  the  courage  and  determina- 
tion with  which  this  remarkable  race  has  main- 
tained itself  in  its  mountain  stronghold  all  down 
the  ages,  and  the  grim  and  unyielding  front 
which  it  has  shown  to  innumerable  invaders, 
have  evoked  so  little  appreciation  and  admira- 
tion in  the  outside  world.  History  contains  no 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    137 

such  epic  as  that  of  the  Albanian  national  hero, 
George  Castriota,  better  known  as  Scanderbeg, 
who,  with  his  ill-armed  mountaineers,  over- 
whelmed twenty-three  Ottoman  armies,  one 
after  another.* 

Picture,  if  you  please,  a  country  remarkably 
similar  in  its  physical  characteristics  to  the  Blue 
Ridge  Region  of  our  own  South,  with  the  same 
warm  summers  and  the  same  brief,  cold  win- 
ters, peopled  by  the  same  poverty-stricken,  illit- 
erate, quarrelsome,  suspicious,  arms-bearing, 
feud-practising  race  of  mountaineers,  and  you 
will  have  the  best  domestic  parallel  of  Albania 
that  I  can  give  you.  Though  during  the  sum- 
mer months  extremely  hot  days  are  followed  by 
bitterly  cold  nights,  and  though  fever  is  preva- 
lent along  the  coast  and  in  certain  of  the  valleys, 
Albania  is,  climatically  speaking,  "a  white  man's 
country."  Its  mountains  are  believed  to  con- 
tain iron,  coal,  gold,  lead,  and  copper,  but  the 
internal  condition  of  the  country  has  made  it 
quite  impossible  to  investigate  its  mineral  re- 
sources, much  less  to  develop  them.  With  the 

*  Portions  of  this  sketch  of  the  Albanians  are  drawn 
from  an  article  which  I  wrote  some  years  ago  for  The 
Independent.  E.  A.  P. 


i38     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

exception  of  Valona,  which  has  been  developed 
into  a  tolerably  good  harbor,  there  are  no  ports 
worthy  of  the  name,  Durazzo,  Santi  Quaranta, 
and  San  Giovanni  de  Medua  being  mere  open 
roadsteads,  almost  unprotected  from  the  sea 
winds.  There  are  no  railroads  in  Albania,  and 
the  indifference  of  the  Turkish  Government, 
the  corruption  of  the  local  chiefs,  and  the  blood- 
feuds  in  which  the  people  are  almost  constantly 
engaged,  have  resulted  in  a  total  absence  of 
good  roads.  This  condition  has  been  remedied 
by  the  Italians,  however,  who,  in  order  to  facili- 
tate their  military  operations,  constructed  a  sys- 
tem of  highways  very  nearly  equal  to  those  they 
built  in  the  Alps.  Though  the  greater  part  of 
the  country  is  a  stranger  to  the  plow,  the 
small  areas  which  are  under  cultivation  pro- 
duce excellent  olive  oil,  wine  of  a  tolerable  qual- 
ity, a  strong  but  moderately  good  tobacco,  and 
considerable  grain;  Albania,  in  spite  of  its 
primitive  agricultural  methods,  furnishing  most 
of  the  corn  supply  of  the  Dalmatian  coast. 

Albania,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  is  the  only 
country  where  you  can  buy  a  wife  on  the  instal- 
ment plan,  just  as  you  would  buy  a  piano  or  an 
encyclopedia  or  a  phonograph.  It  is  quite  true 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    139 

that  there  are  plenty  of  countries  where  women 
can  be  purchased — in  Circassia,  for  example, 
and  in  China,  and  in  the  Solomon  Group — but 
in  those  places  the  prospective  bridegroom  is 
compelled  to  pay  down  the  purchase  price  in 
cash,  not  being  afforded  the  convenience  of 
opening  an  account.  In  Albania,  however,  such 
things  are  better  done,  a  partial  payment  on 
the  purchase  price  of  the  girl  being  paid  to  her 
parents  when  the  engagement  takes  place,  after 
which  she  is  no  longer  offered  for  sale,  but  is 
set  aside,  like  an  article  on  which  a  deposit  has 
been  made,  until  the  final  instalment  has  been 
paid,  when  she  is  delivered  to  her  future  hus- 
band. 

Albania  is  likewise  the  only  country  that  I 
know  of  where  every  one  concerned  becomes 
indignant  if  a  murderer  is  sent  to  prison.  The 
relatives  of  the  dear  departed  resent  it  because 
they  feel  that  the  judge  has  cheated  them  out/ 
of  their  revenge,  which  they  would  probably 
obtain,  were  the  murderer  at  large,  by  putting 
a  knife  or  a  pistol  bullet  between  his  shoulders. 
The  murderer,  of  course,  objects  to  the  sentence 
both  because  he  does  not  like  imprisonment  and 
because  he  believes  that  he  could  escape  from 


140    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

the  relatives  of  his  victim  were  he  given  his  free- 
dom. If  he  or  his  friends  have  any  money, 
however,  the  affair  is  usually  settled  on  a  finan- 
cial basis,  the  feud  is  called  off,  the  murderer 
is  pardoned,  and  every  one  concerned,  save  only 
the  dead  man,  is  as  pleased  and  friendly  as 
though  nothing  had  ever  happened  to  interrupt 
their  friendly  relations.  A  quaint  people,  the 
Albanians. 

In  order  to  develop  the  resources  of  the  coun- 
try and  to  transform  its  present  poverty  into 
prosperity,  Italy  has  already  inaugurated  an 
extensive  scheme  of  public  works,  which  in- 
cludes the  reclamation  of  the  marshes  the  re- 
forestation of  the  mountains,  the  reconstruction 
of  the  highways,  the  improvement  of  the  ports, 
and  the  construction  of  a  railway  straight  across 
Albania,  from  the  coast  at  Durazzo  to  Monas- 
tir,  in  Serbian  Macedonia,  where  it  will  connect 
with  the  line  from  Belgrade  to  Salonika.  This 
railway  will  follow  the  route  of  one  of  the  most 
important  arteries  of  the  Roman  Empire,  the 
Via  Egnatia,  that  mighty  military  and  com- 
mercial highway,  a  trans-Adriatic  continuation 
of  the  Via  Appia,  which,  starting  from  Dyrac- 
chium,  the  modern  Durazzo,  crossed  the  Cavaia 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    141 

plain  to  the  Skumbi,  climbed  the  slopes  of  the 
Candavian  range,  and  traversing  Macedonia 
and  Thrace,  ended  at  the  Bosphorus,  thus  link- 
ing the  capitals  of  the  western  and  the  eastern 
empires.  We  traveled  this  age-old  highway, 
down  which  the  four-horse  chariots  of  the 
Caesars  had  rumbled  two  thousand  years  ago, 
in  another  sort  of  chariot,  with  the  power  of 
twenty  times  four  horses  beneath  its  sloping 
hood.  This  will  entitle  us  in  future  years  to 
listen  with  the  condescension  of  pioneers  to  the 
tales  of  the  tourists  who  make  the  same  trans- 
Balkan  journey  in  a  comfortable  wagon-lit, 
with  hot  and  cold  running  water  and  electric 
lights  and  a  dining-car  ahead.  It  is  a  great 
thing  to  have  seen  a  country  in  the  pioneer  stage 
of  its  existence. 

In  that  portion  of  Southern  Albania  known 
as  North  Epirus  we  motored  for  an  entire  day 
through  a  region  dotted  with  what  had  been, 
apparently,  fairly  prosperous  towns  and  villages 
but  which  are  now  heaps  of  fire-blackened  ruins. 
This  wholesale  devastation,  I  was  informed  to 
my  astonishment,  was  the  work  of  the  Greeks, 
who,  at  about  the  time  the  Germans  were  horri- 
fying the  civilized  world  by  their  conduct  in 


142     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

Belgium,  were  doing  precisely  the  same  thing, 
it  is  said,  but  on  a  far  more  extensive  scale,  in 
Albania.  As  a  result  of  these  atrocities,  per- 
petrated by  a  so-called  Christian  and  profess- 
edly civilized  nation,  a  large  number  of  Alba- 
nian towns  and  villages  were  destroyed  by  fire 
or  dynamite.  Though  I  have  been  unable  to  ob- 
tain any  reliable  figures,  the  consensus  of  opin- 
ion among  the  Albanians,  the  French  and  Ital- 
ian officials,  and  the  American  missionaries  and 
relief  workers  with  whom  I  talked  is  that  be- 
tween 10,000  and  12,000  men,  women,  and 
children  were  shot,  bayoneted,  or  burned  to 
death,  at  least  double  that  number  died  from  ex- 
posure and  starvation,  and  an  enormous  number 
— I  have  heard  the  figure  placed  as  high  as 
200,000 — were  rendered  homeless.  The  stories 
which  I  heard  of  the  treatment  to  which  the  Al- 
banian women  were  subjected  are  so  revolting 
as  to  be  unprintable.  We  spent  a  night  at  Ljas- 
koviki  (also  spelled  Gliascovichi,  Leskovik  and 
Liascovik),  three-quarters  of  which  had  been 
destroyed.  Out  of  a  population  which,  I  was 
told,  originally  numbered  about  8,000,  only 
1,200  remain. 

Though  the  great  majority  of  the  victims 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    143 

were  Mohammedans,  the  outrages  were  not  di- 
rectly due  to  religious  causes  but  were  inspired 
mainly  by  greed  for  territory.  When,  upon 
the  erection  of  Albania  into  an  independent 
kingdom  in  1913,  the  Greeks  were  ordered  by 
the  Powers  to  withdraw  from  North  Epirus, 
on  which  they  had  been  steadily  encroaching 
and  which  they  had  come  to  look  upon  as  in- 
alienably their  own,  they  are  reported  to  have 
begun  a  systematic  series  of  outrages  upon  the 
civil  population  of  the  region  for  which  a  fit- 
ting parallel  can  be  found  only  in  the  Turkish 
massacres  in  Armenia  or  the  horrors  of  Bolshe- 
vik rule  in  Russia.  In  their  determination  to 
secure  Southern  Albania  for  themselves,  the 
Greeks  apparently  adopted  the  policy  followed 
with  such  success  in  Armenia  by  the  Turks, 
who  asserted  cynically  that  "one  cannot  make 
a  state  without  inhabitants." 

I  do  not  think  that  the  Greeks  attempt  to 
deny  these  atrocities — the  evidence  is  far  too 
conclusive  for  that — but  even  as  great  a  Greek 
as  M.  Venizelos  justifies  them  on  the  ground 
that  they  were  provoked  by  the  Albanians.  That 
such  things  could  happen  without  arousing  hor- 
ror and  condemnation  throughout  the  civilized 


144     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

world  is  due  to  the  fact  that  in  the  summer  of 
1914  the  attention  of  the  world  was  focused  on 
events  in  France  and  Belgium.  I  have  no  quar- 
rel with  the  Greeks  and  nothing  is  further  from 
my  desire  than  to  engage  in  what  used  to  be 
known  as  "muck-raking,"  but  I  am  reporting 
what  I  saw  and  heard  in  Albania  because  I  be- 
lieve that  the  American  people  ought  to  know  of 
it.  Taken  in  conjunction  with  the  behavior  of 
the  Greek  troops  in  Smyrna  in  the  spring  of 
1918,  it  should  better  enable  us  to  form  an  opin- 
ion as  to  the  moral  fitness  of  the  Greeks  to  be 
entrusted  with  mandates  over  backward  peo- 
ples. 

Though  Albania  is  an  Italian  protectorate, 
the  Albanians,  in  spite  of  all  that  Italy  is  doing 
toward  the  development  of  the  country,  do  not 
want  Italian  protection.  This  is  scarcely  to  be 
wondered  at,  however,  in  view  of  the  attitude 
of  another  untutored  people,  the  Egyptians, 
who,  though  they  owe  their  amazing  prosperity 
solely  to  British  rule,  would  oust  the  British  at 
the  first  opportunity  which  offered.  Though 
the  Italians  are  distrusted  because  the  Albani- 
ans question  their  administrative  ability  and  be- 
cause they  fear  that  they  will  attempt  to  de- 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    145 

nationalize  them,  the  French  are  regarded  with 
a  hatred  which  I  have  seldom  seen  equaled. 
This  is  due,  I  imagine,  to  the  belief  that  the 
French  are  allied  with  their  hereditary  enemies, 
the  Greeks  and  the  Serbs,  and  to  France's  iron- 
handed  rule,  which  was  exemplified  when  Gen- 
eral Sarrail,  commanding  the  army  of  the  Ori- 
ent, ordered  the  execution  of  the  President  of 
the  short-lived  Albanian  Republic  which  was 
established  at  Koritza.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  Albanians,  though  quite  unfitted  for  inde- 
pendence, are  violently  opposed  to  being  placed 
under  the  protection  of  any  nation,  unless  it  be 
the  United  States  or  England,  in  both  of  which 
they  place  implicit  trust.  I  was  astonished  to 
learn  that  the  few  Americans  who  have  pene- 
trated Albania  since  the  war — missionaries,  Red 
Cross  workers,  and  one  or  two  investigators 
for  the  Peace  Conference — have  encouraged 
the  natives  in  the  belief  that  the  United  States 
would  probably  accept  a  mandate  for  Albania. 
Whether  they  did  this  in  order  to  make  them- 
selves popular  and  thereby  facilitate  their  mis- 
sions, or  because  of  an  abysmal  ignorance  of 
American  public  sentiment,  I  do  not  know,  but 
the  fact  remains  that  they  have  raised  hopes  in 


146    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

the  breasts  of  thousands  of  Albanians  which 
can  never  be  realized.  Everything  considered, 
I  think  that  the  Albanians  might  do  worse  than 
to  entrust  their  political  future  to  the  guidance 
of  the  Italians,  who,  in  addition  to  having 
brought  law,  order,  justice,  and  the  beginnings 
of  prosperity  to  a  country  which  never  had  so 
much  as  a  bowing  acquaintance  with  any  one  of 
them  before,  seem  to  have  the  best  interests  of 
the  people  genuinely  at  heart. 

Leaving  Koritza,  a  clean,  well-kept  town  of 
perhaps  10,000  people,  which  was  occupied 
when  we  were  there  by  a  battalion  of  black 
troops  from  the  French  Sudan  and  some  Mo- 
roccans, we  went  snorting  up  the  Peristeri 
Range  by  an  appallingly  steep  and  narrow  road, 
higher,  higher,  always  higher,  until,  to  para- 
phrase Kipling,  we  had 

"One  wheel  on  the  Horns  o'  the  Mornin', 

An'  one  on  the  edge  o'  the  Pit, 
An'  a  drop  into  nothin'  beneath  us 
As  straight  as  a  beggar  could  spit." 

But  at  last,  when  I  was  beginning  to  wonder 
whether  our  wheels  could  find  traction  if  the 
grade  grew  much  steeper,  we  topped  the  sum- 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    147 

mit  of  the  pass  and  looked  down  on  Macedonia. 
Below  us  the  forested  slopes  of  the  mountains 
ran  down,  like  the  folds  of  a  great  green  rug 
lying  rumpled  on  an  oaken  floor,  to  meet  the 
bare  brown  plains  of  that  historic  land  where 
marched  and  fought  the  hosts  of  Philip  of  Ma- 
cedon,  and  of  Alexander,  his  son.  There  are 
few  more  splendid  panoramas  in  the  world; 
there  is  none  over  which  history  has  cast  so 
magic  a  spell,  for  this  barren,  dusty  land  has 
been  the  arena  in  which  the  races  of  eastern  Eu- 
rope have  battled  since  history  began.  Within 
its  borders  are  represented  all  the  peoples  who 
are  disputing  the  reversion  of  the  Turkish  pos- 
sessions in  Europe.  Macedonia  might  be  de- 
scribed, indeed,  as  the  very  quintessence  of  the 
near  eastern  question. 

With  brakes  a-squeal  we  slipped  down  the 
long,  steep  gradients  to  Fiorina,  where  Greek 
gendarmes,  in  British  sun-helmets  and  khaki, 
lounged  at  the  street-crossings  and  patroniz- 
ingly waved  us  past.  Thence  north  by  the  an- 
cient highway  which  leads  to  Monastir,  the 
parched  and  yellow  fields  on  either  side  still 
littered  with  the  debris  of  war — broken 
camions  and  wagons,  shattered  cannon,  pyra- 


148     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

mids  of  ammunition-cases,  vast  quantities  of 
barbed  wire — and  sprinkled  with  white  crosses, 
thousands  and  thousands  of  them,  marking  the 
places  where  sleep  the  youths  from  Britain, 
France,  Italy,  Russia,  Serbia,  Canada,  India, 
Australia,  Africa,  who  fell  in  the  Last  Crusade. 
Monastir  is  a  filthy,  ill-paved,  characteristi- 
cally Turkish  town,  which,  before  its  decima- 
tion by  the  war,  was  credited  with  having  some 
60,000  inhabitants.  Of  these  about  one-half 
were  Turks  and  one-quarter  Greeks,  the  re- 
maining quarter  of  the  inhabitants  being  com- 
posed of  Serbs,  Jews,  Albanians,  and  Bulgars. 
Those  of  its  buildings  which  escaped  the  great 
conflagration  which  destroyed  half  the  town 
were  terribly  shattered  by  the  long  series  of 
bombardments,  so  that  to-day  the  place  looks 
like  San  Francisco  after  the  earthquake  and 
Baltimore  after  the  fire.  In  the  suburbs  are 
immense  supplies  of  war  materiel  of  all  sorts, 
mostly  going  to  waste.  I  saw  thousands  of 
camions,  ambulances,  caissons,  and  wagons  liter- 
ally falling  apart  from  neglect,  and  this  m  a 
country  which  is  almost  destitute  of  transport. 
Though  the  town  was  packed  with  Serbian 
troops,  most  of  whom  are  sleeping  and  eating  in 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    149 

the  open,  no  attempt  was  being  made,  so  far  as 
I  could  see,  to  repair  the  shell-torn  buildings,  to 
clean  the  refuse-littered  streets,  or  to  afford  the 
inhabitants  even  the  most  nominal  police  protec- 
tion. The  crack  of  rifles  and  revolvers  is  as 
frequent  in  the  streets  of  Monastir  as  the  bang 
of  bursting  tires  on  Fifth  Avenue.  A  Serbian 
sentry,  on  duty  outside  the  house  in  which  I  was 
sleeping,  suddenly  loosed  off  a  clip  of  cartridges 
in  the  street,  for  no  reason  in  the  world,  it 
seemed,  than  because  he  liked  to  hear  the  noise ! 
Dead  bodies  are  found  nearly  every  morning. 
Murders  are  so  common  that  they  do  not  pro- 
voke even  passing  comment.  In  the  night  there 
comes  a  sharp  bark  of  an  automatic  or  the  shat- 
tering roar  of  a  hand-grenade  (which,  since  the 
war  proved  its  efficacy,  has  become  the  most 
recherche  weapon  for  private  use  in  these  re- 
gions), a  clatter  of  feet,  and  a  "Hello  1  An- 
other killing."  That  is  all.  Life  is  the  cheapest 
thing  there  is  in  the  Balkans. 

The  only  really  clean  place  we  found  in  Mon- 
astir was  the  American  Red  Cross  Hospital, 
an  extremely  well-managed  and  efficient  institu- 
tion, which  was  under  the  direction  of  a  young 
American  woman,  Dr.  Frances  Flood,  who, 


150     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

with  a  single  woman  companion,  Miss  Jessup, 
pluckily  remained  at  her  post  throughout  the 
greater  part  of  the  war.  The  officers  who  dur- 
ing the  war  achieved  rows  of  ribbons  for  hav- 
ing acted  as  messenger  boys  between  the  War 
Department  and  the  foreign  military  missions 
in  Washington,  would  feel  a  trifle  embarrassed, 
I  imagine,  if  they  knew  what  this  little  Amer- 
ican woman  did  to  win  her  decorations. 

It  is  in  the  neighborhood  of  one  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  from  Monastir  to  Salonika  across 
the  Macedonian  plain  and  the  road  is  one  of 
the  very  worst  in  Europe.  Deep  ruts,  into 
which  the  car  sometimes  slipped  almost  to  its 
hubs,  and  frequent  gullies  made  driving,  save 
at  the  most  moderate  speed,  impossible,  while, 
as  many  of  the  bridges  were  broken,  and  with- 
out signs  to  warn  the  travelers  of  their  condi- 
tion, we  more  than  once  barely  saved  ourselves 
from  plunging  through  the  gaping  openings  to 
disaster.  The  vast  traffic  of  the  fighting  armies 
had  ground  the  roads  into  yellow  dust  which 
rose  in  clouds  as  dense  as  a  London  fog,  while 
the  waves  of  heat  from  the  sun-scorched  plains 
beat  against  our  faces  like  the  blast  from  an 
open  furnace  door.  Despite  its  abominable  con- 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    151 

dition,  the  road  was  alive  with  traffic:  droves 
of  buffalo,  black,  ungainly,  broad-horned  beasts, 
their  elephant-like  hides  caked  with  yellow 
mud;  woolly  waves  of  sheep  and  goats  driven 
by  wild  mountain  herdsmen  in  high  fur  caps 
and  gaudy  sashes ;  caravans  of  camels,  swinging 
superciliously  past  on  padded  feet,  laden  with 
supplies  for  the  interior  or  salvaged  war  ma- 
terial for  the  coast;  clumsy  carts,  painted  in 
strange  designs  and  screaming  colors,  with  great 
sharpened  stakes  which  looked  as  though  they 
were  intended  for  purposes  of  torture,  but 
whose  real  duty  is  to  keep  the  top-heavy  loads 
in  place. 

Though  the  slopes  of  the  Rhodope  and  the 
Pindus  are  clothed  with  splendid  forests,  it  is 
for  the  most  part  a  flat  and  treeless  land,  dotted 
with  clusters  of  filthy  hovels  made  of  sun-dried 
brick  and  with  patches  of  discouraged-looking 
vegetation.  As  Macedonia  (its  inhabitants  pro- 
nounce it  as  though  the  first  syllable  were  mack) 
was  once  the  granary  of  the  East,  I  had  ex- 
pected to  see  illimitable  fields  of  waving  grain, 
but  such  fields  as  we  did  see  were  generally 
small  and  poor.  Guarding  them  against  the 
hovering  swarms  of  blackbirds  were  many  scare- 


152    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

crows,  rigged  out  in  the  uniforms  and  topped 
by  the  helmets  of  the  men  whose  bones  bleach 
amid  the  grain.  In  Switzerland  they  make  a 
very  excellent  red  wine  called  Schweizerblut, 
because  the  grapes  from  which  it  is  made  are 
grown  on  soil  reddened  by  the  blood  of  the 
Swiss  who  fell  on  the  battlefield  of  Morat.  If 
blood  makes  fine  wine,  then  the  best  wine  in  all 
the  world  should  come  from  these  Macedonian 
plains,  for  they  have  been  soaked  with  blood 
since  ever  time  began. 

Our  halfway  town  was  Vodena,  which 
seemed,  after  the  heat  and  dust  of  the  journey, 
like  an  oasis  in  the  desert.  Scores  of  streams, 
issuing  from  the  steep  slopes  of  the  encircling 
hills,  race  through  the  town  in  a  network  of 
little  canals  and  fling  themselves  from  a  cliff,  in 
a  series  of  superb  cascades,  into  the  wooded 
valley  below.  Philip  of  Macedon  was  born 
near  Vodena,  and  there,  in  accordance  with  his 
wishes,  he  was  buried.  You  can  see  the  tomb, 
flanked  by  ever-burning  candles,  though  you 
may  not  enter  it,  should  you  happen  to  pass 
that  way.  He  chose  his  last  resting-place  well, 
did  the  great  soldier,  for  the  overarching 
boughs  of  ancient  plane-trees  turn  the  cobbled 


CEMETERY  OF  FOUR  EMPIRES    153 

streets  of  the  little  town  into  leafy  naves,  the 
air  is  heavy  with  the  scent  of  orange  and  olean- 
der, and  the  place  murmurs  with  the  pleasant 
sound  of  plashing  water. 

Beyond  Vodena  the  road  improved  for  a 
time  and  we  fled  southward  at  greater  speed, 
the  telegraph  poles  leaping  at  us  out  of  the  yel- 
low dust-haze  like  the  pikes  of  giant  sentinels. 
At  Alexander's  Well,  an  ancient  cistern  built 
from  marble  blocks  and  filled  with  crystal-clear 
water,  we  paused  to  refill  our  boiling  radiator, 
and  paused  again,  a  few  miles  farther  on,  at 
the  wretched,  mud-walled  village  which,  accord- 
ing to  local  tradition,  is  the  birthplace  of  the 
man  who  made  himself  master  of  three  con- 
tinents, changed  the  face  of  the  world,  and  died 
at  thirty-three. 

Then  south  again,  south  again,  across  the 
seemingly  illimitable  plains,  until,  topping  a 
range  of  bare  brown  hills,  there  lay  spread  be- 
fore us  the  gleaming  walls  and  minarets  of  that 
city  where  Paul  preached  to  the  Thessalonians. 
To  the  westward  Olympus  seemed  to  verify  the 
assertions  of  the  ancient  Greeks  that  its  sum- 
mit touched  the  sky.  To  the  east,  outlined 
against  the  ^Egean's  blue,  I  could  see  the  penin- 


154    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

sula  of  Chalkis,  with  its  three  gaunt  capes,  Cas- 
sandra, Longos,  and  Athos,  reaching  toward 
Thrace,  the  Hellespont  and  Asia  Minor,  like 
the  claw  of  a  vulture  stretched  out  to  snatch  the 
quarry  which  the  eagles  killed. 


CHAPTER  IV 

UNDER  THE  CROSS  AND  THE 
CRESCENT 

SALONIKA  is  superbly  situated.  To  gain 
it  from  the  seaward  side  you  sail  through 
a  portal  formed  by  the  majestic  peaks  of  Athos 
and  Olympus.  It  reclines  on  the  bronze-brown 
Macedonian  hills,  white-clad,  like  a  young 
Greek  goddess,  with  its  feet  laved  by  the  blue 
waters  of  the  J^gean.  (I  have  used  this  simile 
elsewhere  in  the  book,  but  it  does  not  matter.) 
The  scores  of  slender  minarets  which  rise  above 
the  housetops  belie  the  crosses  on  the  Greek 
flags  which  flaunt  everywhere,  hinting  that  the 
city,  though  it  has  passed  under  Christian  rule, 
is  at  heart  still  Moslem.  Indeed,  barely  a  tenth 
of  the  200,000  inhabitants  are  of  the  ruling 
race,  for  Salonika  is  that  rare  thing  in  modern 
Europe,  a  city  whose  population  is  by  majority 
Jewish.  There  were  hook-nosed,  dark-skinned 
155 


156     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

traders  from  Judea  here,  no  doubt,  as  far  back 
as  the  days  when  Salonika  was  but  a  way-station 
on  the  great  highroad  which  linked  the  East 
with  Rome,  but  it  was  the  Jews  expelled  from 
Spain  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  who  trans- 
formed the  straggling  Turkish  town  into  one  of 
the  most  prosperous  cities  of  the  Levant  by 
making  it  their  home.  And  to-day  the  Jewish 
women  of  Salonika,  the  older  ones  at  least, 
wear  precisely  the  same  costume  that  their 
great-grandmother  wore  in  Spain  before  the 
persecution — a  symbol  and  a  reminder  of  how 
the  Israelites  were  hunted  by  the  Christians  be- 
fore they  found  refuge  in  a  Moslem  land. 

There  are  no  less  than  eight  distinct  ways  of 
spelling  and  pronouncing  the  city's  name.  To 
the  Greeks,  who  are  its  present  owners,  it  is 
Saloniki  or  Saloneke,  according  to  the  method 
of  transliterating  the  epsilon;  it  is  known  to 
the  Turks,  who  misruled  it  for  five  hundred 
years,  as  Selanik;  the  British  call  it  Salonica, 
with  the  accent  on  the  second  syllable;  the 
French  Salonique;  the  Italians  Salonnico,  while 
the  Serbs  refer  to  it  as  Solun.  The  best  au- 
thorities seem  to  have  agreed,  however,  on  Salo- 
nika, with  the  accent  on  the  "i,"  which  is  pro- 


UNDER  CROSS  AND  CRESCENT   157 

nounced  like  "e,"  so  that  it  rhymes  with  "pa- 
prika." But  these  are  all  corruptions  and  ab- 
breviations, for  the  city  was  originally  named 
Thessalonica,  after  the  sister  of  Alexander  6f 
Macedon,  and  thus  referred  to  in  the  two  epis- 
tles which  St.  Paul  addressed  to  the  church  he 
founded  there.  Owing  to  the  variety  of  its 
religious  sects,  Salonika  has  a  superfluity  of 
Sabbaths  as  well  as  of  names,  Friday  being  ob- 
served by  the  Moslems,  Saturday  by  the  Jews, 
and  Sunday  by  the  Christians.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  putting  it  more  accurately  to  say  that  there 
is  no  Sabbath  at  all,  for  the  inhabitants  are  so 
eager  to  make  money  that  business  is  transacted 
on  every  day  of  the  seven. 

Besides  the  great  colony  of  Orthodox  Jews 
in  Salonika,  there  is  a  sect  of  renegades  known 
as  Dounme,  or  Deunmeh,  who  number  perhaps 
20,000  in  all.  These  had  their  beginnings  in 
the  Annus  Mirabilis,  when  a  Jewish  Messiah, 
Sabatai  Sevi  of  Smyrna,  arose  in  the  Levant. 
He  preached  a  creed  which  was  a  first  cousin  of 
those  believed  in  by  our  own  Anabaptists  and 
Seventh  Day  Adventists.  The  name  and  the 
fame  of  him  spread  across  the  Near  East  like 
fire  in  dry  grass.  Every  ghetto  in  Turkey  had 


158     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

accepted  him;  his  ritual  was  adopted  by  every 
synagogue;  the  Jews  gave  themselves  over  to 
penance  and  preparation.  For  a  year  honesty 
reigned  in  the  Levant.  Then  the  prophet  set 
out  for  Constantinople  to  beard  the  Sultan  in 
his  palace  and,  so  he  announced,  to  lead  him  in 
chains  to  Zion.  That  was  where  Sabatai  Sevi 
made  his  big  mistake.  For  the  Commander  of 
the  Faithful  was  from  Missouri,  so  far  as  Sa- 
batai Sevi's  claims  to  divinity  were  concerned. 

"Messiahs  can  perform  miracles,"  the  Sul- 
tain  said.  "Let  me  see  you  perform  one.  My 
Janissaries  shall  make  a  target  of  you.  If  you 
are  of  divine  origin,  as  you  claim,  the  arrows 
will  not  harm  you.  And,  in  any  event,  it  will 
be  an  interesting  experiment." 

Now  Sabatai  evidently  had  grave  doubts 
about  his  self-assumed  divinity  being  arrow- 
proof,  for  he  protested  vigorously  against  the 
proposal  to  make  a  human  pin-cushion  of  him, 
whereupon  the  Sultan,  his  suspicions  now  con- 
firmed, gave  him  his  choice  between  being  im- 
paled upon  a  stake,  a  popular  Turkish  pastime 
of  the  period,  or  of  renouncing  Judaism  and 
accepting  the  faith  of  Islam.  Preferring  to  be 
a  live  coward  to  an  impaled  martyr,  he  chose 


g  ^ 
s  I 

gl 


Bl 

H    ^J 


UNDER  CROSS  AND  CRESCENT   159 

the  latter,  yet  such  was  his  influence  with  the 
Jews  that  thousands  of  his  adherents  voluntarily 
embraced  the  religion  of  Mohammed.  The 
Dounme  of  Salonika  are  the  descendants  of 
these  renegades.  Two  centuries  of  waiting 
have  not  dimmed  their  faith  in  the  eventual 
coming  of  their  Messiah.  So  there  they  wait, 
equally  distrusted  by  Jews  and  Moslems, 
though  they  form  the  wealthiest  portion  of  the 
city's  population.  But  they  live  apart  and  so 
dread  any  mixing  of  their  blood  with  that  of 
the  infidel  Turk  or  the  unbelieving  Jew  that,  in 
order  to  avoid  the  risk  of  an  unwelcome  pro- 
posal, they  make  a  practise  of  betrothing  their 
children  before  they  are  born.  It  strikes  me, 
however,  that  there  must  on  occasion  be  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  embarrasment  connected  with 
these  early  matches,  as,  for  example,  when  the 
prenatally  engaged  ones  prove  to  be  of  the 
same  sex. 

I  used  to  be  of  the  opinion  that  Tiflis,  in  the 
Caucasus,  was  the  most  cosmopolitan  city  that 
I  had  ever  seen,  but  since  the  war  I  think  that 
the  greatest  variety  of  races  could  probably  be 
found  in  Salonika.  Sit  at  a  marble-topped  table 
on  the  pavement  in  front  of  Floca's  cafe  at  the 


160     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

tea-hour  and  you  can  see  representatives  of  half 
the  races  in  the  world  pass  by — British  officers 
in  beautifully  polished  boots  and  beautifully  cut 
breeches,  astride  of  beautifully  groomed  ponies; 
Highlanders  with  their  kilts  covered  by  khaki 
aprons ;  raw-boned,  red-faced  Australians  in  sun 
helmets  and  shorts;  swaggering  chausseurs 
d'Afrique  in  wonderful  uniforms  of  sky-blue 
and  scarlet  which  you  will  find  nowhere  else 
outside  a  musical  comedy;  soldiers  of  the  For- 
eign Legion  with  the  skirts  of  their  long  blue 
overcoats  pinned  back  and  with  mushroom- 
shaped  helmets  which  are  much  too  large  for 
them;  soldierly,  well  set-up  little  Ghurkas  in 
broad-brimmed  hats  and  uniforms  of  olive 
green,  reminding  one  for  all  the  world  of  fight- 
ing cocks;  Sikhs  in  yellow  khaki  (did  you  know, 
by  the  way,  that  khaki  is  the  Hindustani  word 
for  dust?)  with  their  long  black  beards  neatly 
plaited  and  rolled  up  under  their  chins;  Epi- 
rotes  wearing  the  starched  and  plaited  skirts 
called  fustanellas,  each  of  which  requires  from 
twenty  to  forty  yards  of  linen;  Albanian  tribal 
chiefs  in  jackets  stiff  with  gold  embroidery,  with 
enough  weapons  thrust  in  their  gaudy  sashes  to 
decorate  a  club-room;  Cretan  gendarmes  wear- 


UNDER  CROSS  AND  CRESCENT   161 

ing  breeches  which  are  so  tight  below  the  knee 
and  so  enormously  baggy  in  the  seat  that  they 
can,  and  when  they  are  in  Crete  frequently  do, 
use  them  in  place  of  a  basket  for  carrying  their 
poultry,  eggs  or  other  farm  produce  to  mar- 
ket; coal-black  Senegalese,  coffee-colored  Mo- 
roccans and  tan-colored  Algerians,  all  wearing 
the  broad  red  cummerbunds  and  the  high  red 
tarbooshes  which  distinguish  France's  African 
soldiery;  Italian  bersaglieri  with  great  bunches 
of  cocks'  feathers  hiding  their  steel  helmets; 
Serbs  in  ununiform  uniforms  of  every  conceiva- 
ble color,  material  and  pattern,  their  only  uni- 
form article  of  equipment  being  their  charac- 
teristic high-crowned  kepis;  Russians  in  flat  caps 
and  belted  blouses,  their  baggy  trousers  tucked 
into  boots  with  ankles  like  accordions;  officers 
of  Cossack  cavalry,  their  tall  and  slender  figures 
accentuated  by  their  long,  tight-fitting  coats  and 
their  high  caps  of  lambskin;  Bulgar  prisoners 
wearing  the  red-banked  caps  which  they  have 
borrowed  from  their  German  allies  and  Aus- 
trian prisoners  in  worn  and  shabby  uniforms 
of  grayish-blue;  Greek  soldiers  bedecked  like 
Christmas  trees  with  medals,  badges,  fourra- 
geres  and  chevrons,  in  the  hope,  I  suppose,  that 


i62     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

their  gaudiness  would  make  up  for  their  lack 
of  prowess;  Orthodox  priests  with  their  long 
hair  (for  they  never  cut  their  hair  or  beards) 
done  up  in  Psyche  knots;  Hebrew  rabbis  wear- 
ing caps  of  velvet  shaped  like  those  worn  by 
bakers;  Moslem  muftis  with  their  snowy  tur- 
bans encircled  by  green  scarves  as  a  sign  that 
they  had  made  the  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy 
Places;  Jewish  merchants  and  money-changers 
in  the  same  black  caps  and  greasy  gabardines 
which  their  ancestors  wore  in  the  Middle  Ages; 
British,  French,  Italian  and  American  bluejack- 
ets with  their  caps  cocked  jauntily  and  the  roll 
of  the  sea  in  their  gait;  A.RA.,  A.R.C., 
Y.M.C.A.,  K.  of  C.  and  A.C.R.N.E.  workers  in 
fancy  uniforms  of  every  cut  and  color;  Turkish 
sherbet-sellers  with  huge  brass  urns,  hung  with 
tinkling  bells  to  give  notice  of  their  approach, 
slung  upon  their  backs;  ragged  Macedonian 
bootblacks  (bootblacking  appeared  to  be  the 
national  industry  of  Macedonia),  and  hordes 
of  gipsy  beggars,  the  filthiest  and  most  impor- 
tunate I  have  ever  seen.  All  day  long  this  mot- 
ley, colorful  crowd  surges  through  the  narrow 
streets,  their  voices,  speaking  in  a  score  of 
tongues,  raising  a  din  like  that  of  Bedlam;  the 


UNDER  CROSS  AND  CRESCENT   163 

smells  of  unwashed  bodies,  human  perspiration, 
strong  tobacco,  rum,  hashish,  whiskey,  arrack, 
goat's  cheese,  garlic,  cheap  perfumery  and 
sweat-soaked  leather  combining  in  a  stench 
which  rises  to  high  Heaven. 

On  the  streets  one  sees  almost  as  many  col- 
ored soldiers  as  white  ones:  French  native 
troops  from  Algeria,  Morocco,  Madagascar, 
Senegal  and  China ;  British  Indian  soldiery  from 
Bengal,  the  Northwest  Provinces  and  Nepaul. 
The  Indian  troops  were  superbly  drilled  and 
under  the  most  iron  discipline,  but  the  French 
native  troops  appeared  to  be  getting  out  of 
hand  and  were  not  to  be  depended  upon.  To 
a  man  they  had  announced  that  they  wanted  to 
go  home.  They  had  been  through  four  and  a 
half  years  of  war,  they  are  tired  and  homesick, 
and  they  are  more  than  willing  to  let  the  Bal- 
kan peoples  settle  their  own  quarrels.  They 
were  weary  of  fighting  in  a  quarrel  of  which 
they  knew  little  and  about  which  they  cared 
less;  they  longed  for  a  sight  of  the  wives  and 
the  children  they  had  left  beliind  them  in  Fez 
or  Touggourt  or  Timbuktu.  Because  they  had 
been  kept  on  duty  in  Europe,  while  the  French 
white  troops  were  being  rapidly  demobilized 


1 64    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

and  returned  to  their  homes,  the  Africans  were 
sullen  and  resentful.  This  smoldering  resent- 
ment suddenly  burst  into  flame,  a  day  or  so  be- 
fore we  reached  Salonika,  when  a  Senegalese 
sergeant,  whose  request  to  be  sent  home  had 
been  refused,  ran  amuck,  barricaded  himself  in 
a  stone  outhouse  with  a  plentiful  supply  of  rifles 
and  ammunition,  and  succeeded  in  killing  four 
officers  and  half-a-dozen  soldiers  before  his 
career  was  ended  by  a  well-aimed  hand  grenade. 
A  few  days  later  a  British  officer  was  shot  and 
killed  in  the  camp  outside  the  city  by  a  Ghurka 
sentinel.  This  was  not  due  to  mutiny,  how- 
ever, but,  on  the  contrary,  to  over-strict  obedi- 
ence to  orders,  the  sentry  having  been  instruct- 
ed that  he  was  to  permit  no  one  to  cross  his 
post  without  challenging.  The  officer,  who  was 
fresh  from  England  and  had  had  no  experience 
with  the  discipline  of  Indian  troops,  ignored 
the  order  to  halt — and  the  next  day  there  was 
a  military  funeral. 

Salonika  is  theoretically  under  Greek  rule 
and  there  are  pompous,  self-important  little 
Greek  policemen,  perfect  replicas  of  the  Brit- 
ish M.P.'s  in  everything  save  physique  and  dis- 
cipline, on  duty  at  the  street  crossings,  but  in- 


UNDER  CROSS  AND  CRESCENT  165 

stead  of  regulating  the  enormous  flow  of  traffic 
they  seem  only  to  obstruct  it.  When  the  con- 
gestion becomes  so  great  that  it  threatens  to 
hold  up  the  unending  stream  of  motor-lorries 
which  rolls  through  the  city,  day  and  night,  be- 
tween the  great  cantonments  in  the  outskirts 
and  the  port,  a  tall  British  military  policeman 
suddenly  appears  from  nowhere,  shoulders  the 
Greek  gendarme  aside,  and  with  a  few  curt  or- 
ders untangles  the  snarl  into  which  the  traffic 
has  gotten  itself  and  sets  it  going  again. 

Picturesque  though  Salonika  undeniably  is, 
with  its  splendid  mosques,  its  beautiful  Byzan- 
tine churches,  its  Roman  triumphal  arches,  and 
the  brooding  bulk  of  Mount  Olympus,  which 
overshadows  and  makes  trivial  everything 
else,  yet  the  strongest  impressions  one 
carries  away  are  filth,  corruption  and  mis- 
government.  These  conditions  are  due  in 
some  measure,  no  doubt,  to  the  refusal 
of  the  European  troops,  with  whom  the 
city  is  filled,  to  take  orders  from  any  save  their 
own  officers,  but  the  underlying  reason  is  to  be 
found  in  the  indifference  and  gross  incompe- 
tence of  the  Greek  authorities.  The  Greeks  an- 
swer this  by  saying  that  they  have  not  had  time 


1 66     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

to  clean  the  city  up  and  give  it  a  decent  admin- 
istration because  they  have  owned  it  only  eight 
years.  All  of  the  European  business  quarter, 
including  a  mile  of  handsome  buildings  along 
the  waterfront,  lies  in  ruins  as  a  result  of  the 
great  fire  of  1917.  Though  a  system  of  new 
streets  has  been  tentatively  laid  out  across  this 
fire-swept  area,  no  attempt  has  been  made  to 
rebuild  the  city,  hundreds  of  shopkeepers  carry- 
ing on  their  businesses  in  shacks  and  booths 
erected  amid  the  blackened  and  tottering  walls. 
All  of  the  hotels  worthy  of  the  name  were  de- 
stroyed in  the  fire,  the  two  or  three  which  es- 
caped being  quite  uninhabitable,  at  least  for 
Europeans,  because  of  the  armies  of  insects 
with  which  they  are  infested.  I  do  not  recall 
hearing  any  one  say  a  good  word  for  Salonika. 
The  pleasantest  recollection  which  I  retain  of 
the  place  is  that  of  the  steamer  which  took  us 
away  from  there. 

Before  we  could  leave  Salonika  for  Constan- 
tinople our  passports  had  to  be  vised  by  the 
representatives  of  five  nations.  In  fact,  travel 
in  the  Balkans  since  the  war  is  just  one  damn 
vise  after  another.  The  Italians  stamped  them 
because  we  had  come  from  Albania,  which  is 


UNDER  CROSS  AND  CRESCENT   167 

under  Italian  protection.  The  Serbs  put  on 
their  imprint  because  we  had  stopped  for  a 
few  days  in  Monastir.  The  Greeks  affixed  their 
stamp — and  collected  handsomely  for  doing  so 
— because,  theoretically  at  least,  Salonika, 
whose  dust  we  were  shaking  from  our  feet,  be- 
longs to  them.  The  French  insisted  on  viseing 
our  papers  in  order  to  show  their  authority  and 
because  they  needed  the  ten  francs.  The  Brit- 
ish control  officer  told  me  that  I  really  didn't 
need  his  vise,  but  that  he  would  put  it  on  any- 
way because  it  would  make  the  passports  look 
more  imposing.  Because  we  were  going  to  Con- 
stantinople and  Bucharest,  whereas  our  pass-, 
ports  were  made  out  for  "the  Balkan  States," 
the  American  Consul  would  not  vise  them  at 
all,  on  the  ground  that  neither  Turkey  nor  Rou- 
mania  is  in  the  Balkans.  About  Roumania 
he  was  technically  correct,  but  I  think  most 
geographers  place  European  Turkey  in  the  Bal- 
kans. As  things  turned  out,  however,  it  was 
all  labor  lost  and  time  thrown  away,  for  we 
landed  in  Constantinople  as  untroubled  by  of- 
ficials and  inspectors  as  though  we  were  step- 
ping ashore  at  Twenty-third  Street  from  a  Jer- 
sey City  ferry. 


1 68     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

There  were  no  regular  sailings  from  Salonika 
for  Constantinople,  but,  by  paying  a  hundred 
dollars  for  a  ticket  which  in  pre-war  days  cost 
twenty,  we  succeeded  in  obtaining  passage  on 
an  Italian  tramp  steamer.  The  Padova  was 
just  such  a  cargo  tub  as  one  might  expect  to 
find  plying  between  Levantine  ports.  Though 
we  occupied  an  officer's  cabin,  for  which  we 
were  charged  Mauretania  rates,  it  was  very  far 
from  being  as  luxurious  as  it  sounds,  for  I  slept 
upon  a  mattress  laid  upon  three  chairs  and  the 
mattress  was  soiled  and  inhabited.  Still,  it  was 
very  diverting,  after  an  itching  night,  to  watch 
the  cockroaches,  which  were  almost  as  large  as 
mice,  hurrying  about  their  duties  on  the  floor 
and  ceiling.  Huddled  under  the  forward  awn- 
ings were  two-score  deck  passengers — Greeks, 
Turks,  Armenians  and  Roumanians.  Sprawled 
on  their  straw-filled  mattresses,  they  loafed  the 
hot  and  lazy  days  away  in  playing  cards,  eating 
the  black  bread,  olives  and  garlic  which  they 
had  brought  with  them,  smoking  a  peculiarly 
strong  and  villainous  tobacco,  and'torturing  na- 
tive musical  instruments  of  various  kinds.  At 
night  a  young  Turk  sang  plaintive,  quavering 
laments  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  sort  of  gui- 


UNDER  CROSS  AND  CRESCENT  169 

tar,  some  of  the  others  occasionally  joining  in 
the  mournful  chorus.  I  found  my  chief  recrea- 
tion, when  it  grew  too  dark  to  read,  in  watching 
an  Orthodox  priest,  who  was  one  of  the  deck- 
passengers,  prepare  for  the  night  by  combing 
and  putting  up  his  long  and  greasy  hair.  An- 
other of  the  deck-passengers  was  a  rather  pros- 
perous-looking, middle-aged  Levantine  who  had 
been  in  America  making  his  fortune,  he  told  me, 
and  was  now  returning  to  his  wife,  who  lived 
in  a  little  village  on  the  Dardanelles,  after  an 
absence  of  sixteen  years.  She  had  no  idea  that 
he  was  coming,  he  said,  as  he  had  planned  to 
surprise  her.  Perhaps  he  was  the  one  to  be 
surprised.  Sixteen  years  is  a  long  time  for  a 
woman  to  wait  for  a  man,  even  in  a  country  as 
conservative  as  Turkey. 

The  officers  of  the  Padova  talked  a  good 
deal  about  the  mine-fields  that  still  guarded  the 
approaches  to  the  Dardanelles  and  the  possi- 
bility that  some  of  the  deadly  contrivances  might 
have  broken  loose  and  drifted  across  our  course. 
In  order  to  cheer  us  up  the  captain  showed  us 
the  charts,  on  which  the  mined  areas  were  indi- 
cated by  diagonal  shadings,  little  red  arrows 
pointing  the  way  between  them  along  channels 


170    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

as  narrow  and  devious  as  a  forest  trail.  To 
add  to  our  sense  of  security  he  told  us  that  he 
had  never  been  through  the  Dardanelles  be- 
fore, adding  that  he  did  not  intend  to  pick  up 
a  pilot,  as  he  considered  their  charges  exorbi- 
tant. At  the  base  of  the  great  mine-field  which 
lies  across  the  mouth  of  the  Straits  we  were 
hailed  by  a  British  patrol  boat,  whose  choleric 
commander  bellowed  instructions  at  us,  inter- 
larded with  much  profanity,  through  a  mega- 
phone. The  captain  of  the  Padova  could  un- 
derstand a  few  simple  English  phrases,  if  slow- 
ly spoken,  but  the  broadside  of  Billingsgate  only 
confused  and  puzzled  him,  so,  despite  the  fact 
that  he  had  no  pilot  and  that  darkness  was  rap- 
idly descending,  he  kept  serenely  on  his  course. 
This  seemed  to  enrage  the  British  skipper,  who 
threw  over  his  wheel  and  ran  directly  across 
our  bows,  very  much  as  one  polo  player  tries 
to  ride  off  another. 

"You fool!"  he  bellowed,  fairly  danc- 
ing about  his  quarter-deck  with  rage.  "Why 
in  hell  don't  you  stop  when  I  tell  you  to  ?  Don't 
you  know  that  you're  running  straight  into  a 
mine-field?  Drop  anchor  alongside  me  and  do 
it quick  or  I'll  take  your license  away 


UNDER  CROSS  AND  CRESCENT  171 

from  you.    And  I  don't  want  any  of  your 

excuses,  either.     I  won't  listen  to  'em." 

"What  he  say?"  the  captain  asked  me.  "I 
not  onderstan'  hees  Engleesh  ver'  good." 

"No,  you  wouldn't,"  I  told  him.  "He's 
speaking  a  sort  of  patois,  you  see.  He  wants 
to  know  if  you  will  have  the  great  kindness  to 
drop  anchor  alongside  him  until  morning,  for 
it  is  forbidden  to  pass  through  the  mine-fields 
in  the  dark,  and  he  hopes  that  you  will  have  a 
very  pleasant  night." 

Five  minutes  later  our  anchor  had  rumbled 
down  off  Sed-ul-Bahr,  under  the  shadow  of 
Cape  Helles,  the  tip  of  that  rock,  sun-scorched, 
blood-soaked  peninsula  which  was  the  scene  of 
that  most  heroic  of  military  failures — the  Galli- 
poli  campaign.  Above  us,  on  the  bare  brown 
hillside,  was  what  looked,  in  the  rapidly  cTeep- 
ening  twilight,  like  a  patch  of  driven  snow,  but 
upon  examining  it  through  my  glasses  I  saw 
that  it  was  a  field  enclosed  by  a  rude  wall  and 
planted  thickly  with  small  white  wooden  crosses, 
standing  row  on  row.  Then  I  remembered.  It 
was  at  the  foot  of  these  steep  and  steel-swept 
bluffs  that  the  Anzacs  made  their  immortal  land- 


172    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

ing;  it  is  here,  in  earth  soaked  with  their  own 
blood,  that  they  lie  sleeping.  The  crowded  dug- 
outs in  which  they  dwelt  have  already  fallen 
in;  the  trenches  which  they  dug  and  which  they 
held  to  the  death  have  crumbled  into  furrows; 
their  bones  lie  among  the  rocks  and  bushes  at 
the  foot  of  that  dark  and  ominous  hill  on  whose 
slopes  they  made  their  supreme  sacrifice.  Lean- 
ing on  the  rail  of  the  deserted  bridge  in  the 
darkness  and  the  silence  it  seemed  as  though  I 
could  see  their  ghosts  standing  amid  the  crosses 
on  the  hillside  staring  longingly  across  the  world 
toward  that  sun-baked  Karroo  of  Australia  and 
to  the  blue  New  Zealand  mountains  which  they 
called  "Home."  It  was  a  night  never  to  be 
forgotten,  for  the  glassy  surface  of  the  ^Egean 
glowed  with  phosphorescence,  the  sky  was  like 
a  hanging  of  purple  velvet,  and  the  peak  of  our 
foremast  seemed  almost  to  graze  the  stars. 
Across  the  Hellespont,  to  the  southward,  the 
sky  was  illumined  by  a  ruddy  glow — a  village 
burning,  so  a  sailor  told  me,  on  the  site  of  an- 
cient Troy.  And  then  there  came  back  to  me 
those  lines  from  Agamemnon  which  I  had 
learned  as  a  boy: 


UNDER  CROSS  AND  CRESCENT  173 

"Beside  the  ruins  of  Troy  they  lie  buried, 
those  men  so  beautiful;  there  they  have  their 
burial-place,  hidden  in  an  enemy's  land!" 

We  got  under  way  at  daybreak  and,  pick- 
ing our  way  as  cautiously  as  a  small  boy  who 
is  trying  to  get  out  of  the  house  at  night  with- 
out awakening  his  family,  we  crept  warily 
through  the  vast  mine-field  which  was  laid 
across  the  entrance  to  the  Dardanelles,  past 
Sed-ul-Bahr,  whose  sandy  beach  is  littered  with 
the  rusting  skeletons  of  both  Allied  and  Turk- 
ish warships  and  transports;  past  Kalid  Bahr, 
where  the  high  bluffs  are  dotted  with  the  ruins 
of  Turkish  forts  destroyed  by  the  shell-fire  of 
the  British  dreadnaughts  on  the  other  side  of 
the  peninsula  and  with  the  remains  of  other 
forts  which  were  destroyed  in  the  Crusaders' 
times;  past  Chanak,  where  the  steep  hill-slopes 
behind  the  town  were  white  with  British  tents, 
and  so  into  the  safe  waters  of  the  Marmora 
Sea.  Though  I  was  perfectly  familiar  with  the 
topography  of  the  Gallipoli  Peninsula,  as  well 
as  with  the  possibilities  of  modern  naval  guns, 
I  was  astonished  at  the  evidences,  which  we 
saw  along  the  shore  for  miles,  of  the  extraordi- 


174    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

nary  accuracy  of  the  fire  of  the  British  fleet. 
Virtually  all  the  forts  defending  the  Darda- 
nelles were  bombarded  by  indirect  fire,  remem- 
ber, the  whole  width  of  the  peninsula  separat- 
ing them  from  the  fleet.  To  get  a  mental  pic- 
ture of  the  situation  you  must  imagine  warships 
lying  in  the  East  River  firing  over  Manhattan 
Island  in  an  attempt  to  reduce  fortifications  on 
the  Hudson.  Men  who  were  in  the  Gallipoli 
forts  during  the  bombardment  told  me  that, 
though  they  were  prevented  by  the  rocky  ridge 
which  forms  the  spine  of  the  peninsula  from 
seeing  the  British  warships,  and  though,  for  the 
same  reason,  the  gunners  on  the  ships  could  not 
see  the  forts,  the  great  steel  calling-cards  of  the 
British  Empire  came  falling  out  of  nowhere  as 
regularly  and  with  as  deadly  precision  as  though 
they  were  being  fired  at  point-blank  range. 

The  successful  defense  of  the  Dardanelles, 
one  of  the  most  brilliantly  conducted  defensive 
operations  of  the  entire  war,  was  primarily  due 
to  the  courage  and  stubborn  endurance  of  Tur- 
key's Anatolian  soldiery,  ignorant,  stolid,  hardy, 
fearless  peasants,  who  were  taken  straight  from 
their  farms  in  Asia  Minor,  put  into  wretchedly 
made,  ill-fitting  uniforms,  hastily  trained  by 


UNDER  CROSS  AND  CRESCENT   175 

German  dri llm asters,  set  down  in  the  trenches 
on  the  Gallipoli  ridge  and  told  to  hold  them. 
No  one  who  is  familiar  with  the  conditions  un- 
der which  these  Turkish  soldiers  fought,  who 
knows  how  wretched  were  the  conditions  under 
which  they  lived,  who  has  seen  those  waterless, 
sun-seared  ridges  which  they  held  against  the 
might  of  Britain's  navy  and  the  best  troops 
which  the  Allies  could  bring  against  them,  can 
withhold  from  them  his  admiration.  Their 
valor  was  deserving  of  a  better  cause. 


CHAPTER  V 

WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  OF  EUROPE 
RECOVER? 

EA.CH  time  that  I  have  approached  Con- 
stantinople from  the  Marmora  Sea  and 
have  watched  that  glorious  and  fascinating 
panorama — Seraglio  Point,  St.  Sophia,  Stam- 
boul,  the  Golden  Horn,  the  Galata  Bridge,  the 
heights  of  Pera,  Dolmabagtche,  Yildiz — slowly 
unfold,  revealing  new  beauties,  new  mysteries, 
with  each  revolution  of  the  steamer's  screw,  I 
have  declared  that  in  all  the  world  there  is  no 
city  so  lovely  as  this  capital  of  the  Caliphs.  Yet, 
beautiful  though  Constantinople  is,  it  combines 
the  moral  squalor  of  Southern  Europe  with  the 
physical  squalor  of  the  Orient  to  a  greater  de- 
gree than  any  city  in  the  Levant.  Though  it 
has  assumed  the  outward  appearance  of  a  well- 
organized  and  fairly  well  administered  munici- 
pality since  its  occupation  by  the  Allies,  one  has 
176 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?  177 

but  to  scratch  this  thin  veneer  to  discover  that 
the  filth  and  vice  and  corruption  and  misgovern- 
ment  which  characterized  it  under  Ottoman  rule 
still  remain.  Barring  a  few  municipal  improve- 
ments which  were  made  in  the  European  quar- 
ter of  Pera  and  in  the  fashionable  residential 
districts  between  Dolmabagtche  and  Yildiz,  the 
Turkish  capital  has  scarcely  a  bowing  acquain- 
tance with  modern  sanitation,  the  windows  of 
some  of  the  finest  residences  in  Stamboul  look- 
ing out  on  open  sewers  down  which  refuse  of 
every  description  floats  slowly  to  the  sea  or 
takes  lodgment  on  the  banks,  these  masses  of 
decaying  matter  attracting  great  swarms  of 
pestilence-breeding  flies.  The  streets  are 
thronged  with  women  whose  virtue  is  as  easy 
as  an  old  shoe,  attracted  by  the  presence  of  the 
armies  as  vultures  are  attracted  by  the  smell  of 
carrion.  Saloons,  brothels,  dives  and  gambling 
hells  run  wide  open  and  virtually  unrestricted, 
and  as  a  consequence  venereal  diseases  abound, 
though  the  British  military  authorities,  in  order 
to  protect  their  own  men,  have  put  the  more 
notorious  resorts  "out  of  bounds"  and,  in  order 
to  provide  more  wholesome  recreations  for  the 
troops,  have  opened  amusement  parks  called 


178     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

"military  gardens."  In  spite  of  the  British, 
French,  Italian  and  Turkish  military  police  who 
are  on  duty  in  the  streets,  stabbing  affrays, 
shootings  and  robberies  are  so  common  that 
they  provoke  but  little  comment.  Petty  thiev- 
ery is  universal.  Hats,  coats,  canes,  umbrellas 
disappear  from  beside  one's  chair  in  hotels  and 
restaurants.  The  Pera  Palace  Hotel  has  notices 
posted  in  its  corridors  warning  the  guests  that 
it  is  no  longer  safe  to  place  their  shoes  outside 
their  doors  to  be  polished.  The  streets,  always 
wretchedly  paved,  have  been  ground  to  pieces 
by  the  unending  procession  of  motor-lorries, 
and,  as  they  are  never  by  any  chance  repaired, 
the  first  rain  transforms  them  into  a  series  of 
hog-wallows.  The  most  populous  districts  of 
Pera,  of  Galata,  and  of  Stamboul  are  now  dis- 
figured by  great  areas  of  fire-blackened  ruins — 
reminders  of  the  several  terrible  conflagrations 
from  which  the  Turkish  capital  has  suffered  in 
recent  years.  "Should  the  United  States  decide 
to  accept  the  mandate  for  Constantinople,"  a 
resident  remarked  to  me,  "these  burned  dis- 
tricts would  give  her  an  opportunity  to  start 
rebuilding  the  city  on  modern  sanitary  lines" 
and,  he  might  have  added,  at  American  expense. 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?   179 

The  prices  of  necessities  are  fantastic  and 
of  luxuries  fabulous.  The  cost  of  everything 
has  advanced  from  200  to  1,200  per  cent.  The 
price  of  a  meal  is  no  longer  reckoned  in  piastres 
but  in  Turkish  pounds,  though  this  is  not  as 
startling  as  it  sounds,  for  the  Turkish  lira  has 
dropped  to  about  a  quarter  of  its  normal  value. 
Quite  a  modest  dinner  for  two  at  such  places 
as  Tokatlian's,  the  Pera  Palace  Hotel,  or  the 
Pera  Gardens,  costs  the  equivalent  of  from 
fifteen  to  twenty  dollars.  Everything  else  is  in 
proportion.  From  the  "Little  Club'  in  Pera  to 
the  Galata  Bridge  is  about  a  seven  minutes' 
drive  by  carriage.  In  the  old  days  the  standard 
tariff  for  the  trip  was  twenty-five  cents.  Now 
the  cabmen  refuse  to  turn  a  wlieel  for  less  than 
two  dollars. 

Speaking  of  money,  the  chief  occupation  of 
the  traveler  in  the  Balkans  is  exchanging  the 
currency  of  one  country  for  that  of  another: 
lira  into  dinars,  dinars  into  drachmae,  drachmas 
into  piastres,  piastres  into  leva,  leva  into  lei, 
lei  into  roubles  (though  no  one  ever  exchanges 
his  money  for  roubles  if  he  can  possibly  help 
it),  roubles  into  kronen,  and  kronen  into  lire 
again.  The  idea  is  to  leave  each  country  with 


i8o    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

as  little  as  possible  of  that  country's  currency 
in  your  possession.  It  is  like  playing  that  card 
game  in  which  you  are  penalized  for  every  heart 
you  have  left  in  your  hand. 

"But  how  is  the  Sick  Man?"  I  hear  you  ask. 

He  is  doing  very  nicely,  thank  you.  In  fact, 
he  appears  to  be  steadily  improving.  There 
was  a  time,  shortly  after  the  Armistice,  when 
it  seemed  certain  that  he  would  have  to  submit 
to  an  operation,  which  he  probably  would  not 
have  survived,  but  the  surgeons  disagreed  as 
to  the  method  of  operating  and  now  it 
looks  as  though  he  would  get  well  in  spite  of 
them.  He  has  a  chill  every  time  they  hold  a 
consultation,  of  course,  but  he  will  probably  es- 
cape the  operation  altogether,  though  he  may 
have  to  take  some  extremely  unpleasant  medi- 
cine and  be  kept  on  a  diet  for  several  years  to 
come.  He  has  remarkable  recuperative  powers, 
you  know,  and  his  friends  expect  to  see  him  up 
and  about  before  long. 

That  may  sound  flippant,  as  it  is,  but  it  sums 
up  in  a  single  paragraph  the  extraordinary  po- 
litical situation  which  exists  in  Turkey  to-day. 
Little  more  than  a  year  ago  Turkey  surrendered 
in  defeat,  her  resources  exhausted,  her  armies 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?  181 

destroyed  or  scattered.  If  anything  in  the  world 
seemed  certain  at  that  time  it  was  that  the  red- 
handed  nation,  whose  very  name  has  for  cen- 
turies been  a  synonym  for  cruelty  and  oppres- 
sion, would  disappear  from  the  map  of  Europe, 
if  not  from  the  map  of  the  world,  at  the  behest 
of  an  outraged  civilization.    The  Turkish  Gov- 
ernment committed  the  most  outrageous  crime 
of  the  entire  war  when  it  organized  the  sys- 
tematic extermination  of  the  Armenians.     Its 
former   Minister  of  War,  Enver  Pasha,   has 
been  quoted  as  cynically  remarking,  "If  there 
are    no    more    Armenians    there    can    be    no 
Armenian    question."      A   people    capable    of 
such    barbarity    ought    no    longer    be    per- 
mitted   to    sully    Europe    with    their    pres- 
ence:   they    ought    to    be    driven    back    into 
those   savage  Anatolian  regions  whence  they 
came   and  kept  there,  just  as  those  suffering 
from  a  less  objectionable  form  of  leprosy  are 
confined  on  Molokai.     But  the  fervor  of  a  year 
ago  for  expelling  the  Turks  from  Europe  is 
rapidly  dying  down.     In  the  spring  of   1919 
Turkey  could  have  been  partitioned  by  the  Al- 
lies with  comparatively  little  friction.     No  one 
expected  it  more  than  Turkey  herself.    When- 


1 82     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

ever  she  heard  a  step  on  the  floor,  a  knock  at 
the  door,  she  keyed  herself  for  the  ordeal  of 
the  anesthetic  and  the  operating  table.  But 
the  ancient  jealousies  and  rivalries  of  the  En- 
tente nations,  which  had  been  forgotten  during 
the  war,  returned  with  peace  and  now  it  looks 
as  though,  as  a  result  of  these  nations1  distrust 
and  suspicion  of  each  other,  the  Turks  would 
win  back  by  diplomacy  what  they  lost  in  bat- 
tle. How  History  repeats  itself!  The  Turks 
have  often  been  unlucky  in  war  and  then  had  a 
return  of  luck  at  the  peace  table.  It  was  so 
after  the  Russo-Turkish  War,  when  the  Con- 
gress of  Berlin  tore  up  the  Treaty  of  San  Ste- 
fano.  It  was  so  to  a  lesser  extent  after  the 
Balkan  wars,  when  the  interference  of  the  Eu- 
ropean Concert  enabled  Turkey  to  recover  Ad- 
rianople  and  a  portion  of  the  Thracian  terri- 
tory which  she  had  lost  to  Bulgaria.  And  now 
it  looks  as  though  she  were  once  again  to  es- 
cape the  punishment  she  so  richly  merits.  If 
she  does,  then  History  will  chronicle  few  more 
shameful  miscarriages  of  justice. 

If  the  people  of  the  United  States  could 
know  for  a  surety  of  the  avarice,  the  selfish- 
ness, the  cynicism  which  have  marked  every 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?  183 

step  of  the  negotiations  relative  to  the  settle- 
ment of  the  Near  Eastern  Question,  if  they 
were  aware  of  the  chicanery  and  the  deceit  and 
the  low  cunning  practised  by  the  European 
diplomatists,  I  am  convinced  that  there  would 
be  an  irresistible  demand  that  we  withdraw  in- 
stantly from  participation  in  the  affairs  of 
Southeastern  Europe  and  of  Western  Asia. 
Why  not  look  the  facts  in  the  face?  Why 
not  admit  that  these  affairs  are,  after  all,  none 
of  our  concern,  and  that,  by  every  one  save  the 
Turks  and  the  Armenians,  our  attempted  dicta- 
tion is  resented.  In  the  language  of  the  fron- 
tier, we  have  butted  into  a  game  in  which  we 
are  not  wanted.  It  is  no  game  for  up-lifters 
or  amateurs.  England,  France,  Italy  and  Greece 
are  not  in  this  game  to  bring  order  out  of  chaos 
but  to  establish  "spheres  of  influence."  They 
are  not  thinking  about  self-determination  and 
the  rights  of  little  peoples  and  making  the  world 
safe  for  Democracy;  they  are  thinking  in  terms 
of  future  commercial  and  territorial  advan- 
tage. They  are  playing  for  the  richest  stakes 
in  the  history  of  the  world :  for  the  control  of 
the  Bosphorus  and  the  Bagdad  Railway — for 
whoever  controls  them  controls  the  trade  routes 


1 84     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

to  India,  Persia,  and  the  vast,  untouched  re- 
gions of  Transcaspia;  the  commercial  domina- 
tion of  Western  Asia,  and  the  overlordship  of 
that  city  which  stands  at  the  crossroads  of  the 
Eastern  World  and  its  political  capital  of  Is- 
lam. 

In  order  better  to  appreciate  the  subtleties 
of  the  game  which  they  are  playing,  let  us 
glance  over  the  shoulders  of  the  players  and 
get  a  glimpse  of  their  hands.  Take  England 
to  begin  with.  Unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken, 
England  is  not  in  favor  of  a  complete  dismem- 
berment of  Turkey  or  the  expulsion  of  the  Sul- 
tan from  Constantinople.  This  is  a  complete 
volte  face  from  the  sentiment  in  England  im- 
mediately after  the  war,  but  during  the  interim 
she  has  heard  in  no  uncertain  terms  from  her 
100,000,000  Mohammedan  subjects  in  India, 
who  look  on  the  Turkish  Sultan  as  the  head  of 
their  religion  and  who  would  resent  his  humili- 
ation as  deeply,  and  probably  much  more  vio- 
lently, than  the  Roman  Catholics  would  resent 
the  humiliation  of  the  Pope.  British  rule  in 
India,  as  those  who  are  in  touch  with  Oriental 
affairs  know,  is  none  too  stable,  and  the  last 
thing  in  the  world  England  wants  to  do  is  to 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?  185 

arouse  the  hostility  of  her  Moslem  subjects  by 
affronting  the  head  of  their  faith.  England 
will  unquestionably  retain  control  of  Mesopota- 
mia for  the  sake  of  the  oil  wells  at  the  head 
of  the  Persian  Gulf,  the  control  which  it  gives 
her  of  the  eastern  section  of  the  Bagdad  Rail- 
way, and  because  of  her  belief  that  scientific 
irrigation  will  once  more  transform  the  plains 
of  Babylonia  into  one  of  the  greatest  wheat-pro- 
ducing regions  in  the  world.  She  may,  and  prob- 
ably will,  keep  her  oft-repeated  promises  to  the 
Jews  by  erecting  Palestine  into  a  Hebrew  king- 
dom under  British  protection,  if  for  no  other 
reason  than  its  value  as  a  buffer  state  to  protect 
Egypt.  She  will  also,  I  assume,  continue  to 
foster  and  support  the  policy  of  Pan-Arabism, 
as  expressed  in  the  new  Kingdom  of  the  Hed- 
jaz,  not  alone  for  the  reason  that  control  of 
the  Arabian  peninsula  gives  her  complete  com- 
mand of  the  Red  Sea  and  the  Persian  Gulf  as 
well  as  a  highroad  from  Egypt  to  her  new  pro- 
tectorate of  Persia,  but  because  she  hopes,  I  im- 
agine, that  her  protege,  the  King  of  Hedjaz, 
as  Sheriff  of  Mecca,  will  eventually  supplant 
the  Sultan  as  the  religious  head  of  Islam.  (It 
is  interesting  to  note,  in  passing,  that,  as  a  re- 


1 86     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

suit  of  the  protectorates  which  she  has  pro- 
claimed over  Mesopotamia,  Palestine,  Arabia 
and  Persia,  England  has,  as  a  direct  result  of 
the  war,  obtained  control  of  new  territories  in 
Asia  alone  having  an  area  greater  than  that  of 
all  the  states  east  of  the  Mississippi  put  to- 
gether, with  a  population  of  some  20,000,000.) 
Though  England  would  unquestionably  wel- 
come the  United  States  accepting  a  mandate  for 
Constantinople,  which  would  ensure  the  neu- 
trality of  the  Bosphorus,  and  for  Armenia, 
which,  under  American  protection,  would  form 
a  stabilized  buffer  state  on  Mesopotamia's 
northern  border,  I  am  convinced  that,  even  if 
the  United  States  refuses  such  mandates,  the 
British  Government  will  oppose  the  serious  hu- 
milation  of  the  Sultan-Khalif,  or  the  complete 
dismemberment  of  his  dominions. 

The  latest  French  plan  is  to  establish  an  in- 
dependent Turkey  from  Adrianople  to  the 
Taurus  Mountains,  lopping  off  Syria,  which 
will  become  a  French  protectorate,  and  Meso- 
potamia and  Palestine,  which  will  remain  under 
British  control. 

Constantinople,  according  to  the  French  view, 
must  remain  independent,  though  doubtless  the 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?'  187 

freedom  of  the  Straits  would  be  assured  by 
some  form  of  international  control.  France  is 
not  particularly  enthusiastic  about  the  estab- 
lishment of  an  independent  Armenia,  for  many 
French  politicians  believe  that  the  interests  of 
the  Armenians  can  be  safeguarded  while  per- 
mitting them  to  remain  under  the  nominal 
suzerainty  of  Turkey,  but  she  will  oppose  no 
active  objections  to  Armenian  independence. 
But  there  must  be  no  crusade  against  the  Turk- 
ish Nationalists  who  are  operating  in  Asia 
Minor  and  no  pretext  given  for  Nationalist 
massacres  of  Greeks  and  Armenians.  And 
the  Sultan  must  retain  the  Khalifate  and  his 
capital  in  Constantinople,  for,  according  to  the 
French  view,  it  is  far  better  for  the  interests 
of  France,  who  has  nearly  30,000,000  Moslem 
subjects  of  her  own,  to  have  an  independent 
head  of  Islam  at  Constantinople,  where  he 
would  be  to  a  certain  extent  under  French  in- 
fluence, than  to  have  a  British-controlled  one 
at  Mecca.  The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that 
France  is  desperately  anxious  to  protect  her 
financial  interests  in  Turkey,  which  are  already 
enormous,  and  she  knows  perfectly  well  that 
her  commercial  and  financial  ascendency  on  the 


1 88     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

Bosphorus  will  suddenly  wane  if  the  Empire 
should  be  dismembered.  That  is  the  real  reason 
why  she  is  cuddling  up  to  the  Sick  Man. 
Being  perfectly  aware  that  neither  England  nor 
Italy  would  consent  to  her  becoming  the  manda- 
tary for  Constantinople,  she  proposes  to  do  the 
next  best  thing  and  rule  Turkey  in  the  future, 
as  in  the  past,  through  the  medium  of  her 
financial  interests.  Sophisticated  men  who  have 
read  the  remarkable  tributes  to  Turkey  which 
have  been  appearing  in  the  French  press,  and 
its  palliation  of  her  long  list  of  crimes,  have 
been  aware  that  something  was  afoot,  but  only 
those  who  have  been  on  the  inside  of  recent 
events  realize  how  enormous  are  the  stakes,  and 
how  shrewd  and  subtle  a  game  France  is  play- 
ing. 

Strictly  speaking,  Italy  is  not  one  of  the 
claimants  to  Constantinople.  Not  that  she  does 
not  want  it,  mind  you,  but  because  she  knows 
that  there  is  about  as  much  chance  of  her  being 
awarded  such  a  mandate  as  there  is  of  her  ob- 
taining French  Savoy,  which  she  likewise  covets. 
Under  no  conceivable  conditions  would  France 
consent  to  the  Bosphorus  passing  under  Italian 
control;  according  to  French  views,  indeed, 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?  189 

Italy  is  already  far  too  powerful  in  the  Balkans. 
Recognizing  the  hopelessness  of  attempting  to 
overcome  French  opposition,  Italy  has  confined 
her  claims  to  the  great  rich  region  of  Cilicia, 
which  roughly  corresponds  to  the  Turkish 
vilayet  of  Adana,  a  rich  and  fertile  region  in 
southern  Asia  Minor,  with  a  coast  line  stretch- 
ing from  Adana  to  Alexandretta.  Cilicia,  I 
might  mention  parenthetically,  is  usually  in- 
cluded in  the  proposed  Armenian  state,  and 
Armenians  have  anticipated  that  Alexandretta 
would  be  their  port  on  the  Mediterranean,  but, 
while  the  peacemakers  at  Paris  have  been  dis- 
cussing the  question,  Italy  has  been  pouring  her 
troops  into  this  region,  having  already  occupied 
the  hinterland  as  far  back  as  Konia.  Italy's 
sole  claim  to  this  region  is  that  she  wants  it 
and  that  she  is  going  to  take  it  while  the  taking 
is  good.  There  are,  it  is  true,  a  few  Italians 
along  the  coast,  there  are  some  Italian  banks, 
and  considerable  Italian  money  has  been  in- 
vested in  various  local  projects,  but  the  popula- 
tion is  overwhelmingly  Turkish.  But,  as  the 
Italians  point  out  in  defending  this  piece  of 
land-grabbing,  Article  22  of  the  Covenant  of 
the  League  of  Nations  expressly  states  that  the 


190     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

wishes  of  people  not  yet  civilized  need  not  be 
considered. 

Let  us  now  consider  the  claims  of  Greece  as 
a  reversionary  of  the  Sick  Man's  estate.  Con- 
sidering their  attitude  during  the  early  part  of 
the  war  (for  it  is  no  secret  that  General  Sar- 
rail's  operations  in  Macedonia  were  seriously 
hampered  by  his  fear  that  Greece  might  at- 
tack him  in  the  rear)  and  the  paucity  of  their 
losses  in  battle,  the  Greeks  have  done  reason- 
ably well  in  the  game  of  territory  grabbing. 
Do  you  realize,  I  wonder,  the  full  extent  of  the 
Hellenic  claims?  Greece  asks  for  (i)  the 
southern  portion  of  Albania,  known  as  North 
Epirus;  (2)  for  the  whole  of  Bulgarian 
Thrace,  thus  completely  barring  Bulgaria  from 
the  ^Egean;  (3)  for  the  whole  of  European 
Turkey,  including  the  Dardanelles  and  Con- 
stantinople; (4)  for  the  province  of  Trebizond, 
on  the  southern  shore  of  the  Black  Sea,  the 
Greek  inhabitants  of  which  attempted  to  es- 
tablish the  so-called  Pontus  Republic;  (5)  the 
great  seaport  of  Smyrna,  with  its  400,000  in- 
habitants, and  a  considerable  portion  of  the 
hinterland,  which  she  has  already  occupied; 
(6)  the  Dodecannessus  Islands,  of  which  the 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?  191 

largest  is  Rhodes,  off  the  western  coast  of  Asia 
Minor,  which  the  Italians  occupied  during  the 
Turco-Italian  War  and  which  they  have  not 
evacuated;  (7)  the  cession  of  Cyprus  by  Eng- 
land, which  has  administered  it  since  1878. 
Greece's  modest  demands  might  be  summed 
up  in  the  words  of  a  song  which  was  popular 
in  the  United  States  a  dozen  years  ago  and 
which  might  appropriately  be  adopted  by  the 
Greeks  as  their  national  anthem: 

"All  I  want  is  fifty  million  dollars, 
A  champagne  fountain  flowing  at  my  feet ; 
J.  Pierpont  Morgan  waiting  at  the  table, 
And  Sousa's  band  a-playing  while  I  eat." 

I  will  be  quite  candid  in  saying  that  I  have 
small  sympathy  for  Greece's  claims  to  these 
territories,  not  because  she  is  not  entitled  to 
them  on  the  ground  of  nationality — for  there 
is  no  denying  that,  in  all  of  the  regions  in  ques- 
tion, save  only  Albania  and  Thrace,  Greeks 
form  a  majority  of  the  Christian  inhabitants — 
but  because  she  is  not  herself  sufficiently  ad- 
vanced to  be  entrusted  with  authority  over 
other  races,  particularly  over  Mohammedans. 
The  atrocities  committed  by  Greek  troops  on 
the  Moslems  of  Albania  and  of  Smyrna,  to  say 


1 92     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

nothing  of  the  behavior  of  the  Greek  bands  in 
Macedonia  during  the  Balkan  wars,  should  be 
sufficient  proof  of  her  unfitness  to  govern  an 
alien  race.  I  have  already  spoken  in  some  de- 
tail of  the  reported  Greek  outrages  in  Albania. 
But  this  was  not  an  isolated  instance  of  the 
methods  employed  in  "Hellenizing"  Moslem 
populations.  In  the  spring  of  1919  the  Peace 
Conference,  hypnotized,  apparently,  by  M. 
Venizelos,  who  is  one  of  the  ablest  diplomats  of 
the  day,  made  the  mistake  of  permitting  Greek 
forces,  unaccompanied  by  other  troops,  to  land 
at  Smyrna.  Almost  immediately  there  began 
an  indiscriminate  slaughter  of  Turkish  officials 
and  civilians,  in  retaliation,  so  the  Greeks  as- 
sert, for  the  massacre  of  Greeks  by  Turks  in  the 
outlying  districts.  The  obvious  answer  to  this  is 
that,  while  the  Greeks  claim  that  they  are  a  civ- 
ilized race,  they  assert  that  the  Turks  are  not. 
The  outcry  against  the  Greeks  on  this  occasion 
was  so  great  that  an  inter-allied  commission, 
including  American  representatives,  was  ap- 
pointed to  make  a  thorough  investigation.  This 
commission  unanimously  found  the  Greeks 
guilty  of  the  unprovoked  massacre  of  800 
Turkish  men,  women  and  children,  who  were 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?  193 

shot  down  in  cold  blood  while  being  marched 
along  the  Smyrna  waterfront,  those  who  were 
not  killed  instantly  being  thrown  by  Greek  sol- 
diers into  the  sea.  High  handed  and  out- 
rageous conduct  by  Greek  troops  in  the  towns 
and  villages  back  of  Smyrna  was  also  proved. 
I  do  not  require  any  further  testimony  as  to 
the  unwisdom  of  placing  Mohammedans  under 
Greek  control,  but,  if  I  did,  I  have  the  evidence 
of  Mr.  Hamlin,  the  son  of  the  founder  of  Rob- 
erts College,  who  was  born  in  the  Levant,  who 
speaks  both  Turkish  and  Greek,  and  who  was 
sent  to  Smyrna  by  the  Greek  government  as  an 
investigator  and  adviser.  He  told  me  that  the 
Greek  attitude  toward  the  Moslems  was  highly 
provocative  and  overbearing  and  that  the 
Allies  were  guilty  of  criminal  negligence  when 
they  permitted  the  Greeks  to  land  at  Smyrna 
alone. 

Though  they  know  that  their  dream  of  re- 
storing Hellenic  rule  over  Byzantium  cannot  be 
realized,  the  Greeks  are  bitterly  opposed  to  the 
United  States  receiving  a  mandate  for  Con- 
stantinople. The  extent  of  Greek  hostility  to- 
ward the  United  States  is  not  appreciated  in 
America,  yet  I  found  traces  of  it  everywhere 


i94    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

in  the  Levant.  A  widespread  Greek  propa- 
ganda has  laid  the  responsibility  for  Greece's 
failure  to  get  the  whole  of  Thrace  at  the  door 
of  the  United  States.  To  this  accusation  has 
been  added  the  charge  that  Americans  were 
foremost  in  creating  sentiment  against  the 
Greek  massacres  in  Smyrna,  which,  the  Greeks 
contend,  was  merely  an  unfortunate  incident 
and  should  be  overlooked.  All  sorts  of 
extraordinary  reasons  are  advanced  for  Amer- 
ica's alleged  hostility  to  Greek  claims,  ranging 
from  the  charge  that  our  attitude  is  inspired 
by  the  missionaries  (for  the  Orthodox  Church 
has  always  opposed  the  presence  of  American 
missionaries  in  Greek  lands)  to  commercial  am- 
bition. As  one  leading  Greek  paper  put  it, 
"Alongside  of  America's  greed  and  schemes 
for  commercial  expansion  since  the  war,  Ger- 
many's imperialism  was  pure  idealism." 

And  now  a  few  words  as  to  the  attitude  of 
Turkey  herself,  for  she  has,  after  all,  a  certain 
interest  in  the  matter.  The  Turks  are  perfectly 
resigned  to  accepting  either  America,  England 
or  France  as  mandatary,  though  they  would 
much  prefer  America,  provided  that  European 
Turkey,  Anatolia  and  Armenia  are  kept  to- 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?   195 

gather,    for    they    realize   that    Syria,    Meso- 
potamia  and  Arabia,   whose   populations   are 
overwhelmingly  Arab,  are  lost  to  them  forever. 
What  they  would  most  eagerly  welcome  would 
be  an  American  mandate  for  European  Turkey 
and  the  whole  of  Asia  Minor,  including  Ar- 
menia.   This  would  keep  out  the  Greeks,  whom 
they  hate,  and  the  Italians,  whom  they  distrust, 
and  it  would  keep  intact  the  most  valuable  por- 
tion of  the  Empire  and  the  part  for  which  they 
have  the  deepest  sentimental  attachment.   Most 
Turks  believe  that,  with  America  as  the  manda- 
tary power,  the  country  would  not  only  benefit 
enormously  through  the  railways,  roads,  har- 
bor works,  agricultural  projects,  sanitary  im- 
provements and  financial  reforms  which  would 
be  carried  out  at  American  expense,  as  in  the 
Philippines,  but  that,  should  the  Turks  behave 
themselves  and  demonstrate  an  ability  for  self- 
government,  America  would  eventually  restore 
their  complete  independence,  as  she  has  prom- 
ised to  restore  that  of  the  Filipinos.     But  if 
they  find  that  Constantinople  and  Armenia  are 
to  be  taken  away  from  them,  then  I  imagine 
that  they  would  vigorously  oppose  any  manda- 
tary whatsoever.    And  they  could  make  a  far 


196     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

more  effective  opposition  than  is  generally  be- 
lieved, for,  though  Constantinople  is  admittedly 
at  the  mercy  of  the  Allied  fleet  in  the  Bos- 
phorus,  the  Nationalist  are  said  to  have  re- 
cruited a  force  numbering  nearly  300,000  men, 
composed  of  well-trained  and  moderately  well 
equipped  veterans  of  the  Gallipoli  campaign, 
which  is  concentrated  in  the  almost  inaccessible 
regions  of  Central  Anatolia.  Moreover,  Enver 
Pasha,  the  former  Minister  of  War  and  leader 
of  the  Young  Turk  party,  who,  it  is  reported, 
has  made  himself  King  of  Kurdistan,  is  said  to 
be  in  command  of  a  considerable  force  of 
Turks,  Kurds  and  Georgians  which  he  has 
raised  for  the  avowed  purpose  of  ending  the 
troublesome  Armenian  question  by  exterminat- 
ing what  is  left  of  the  Armenians,  and  by  ef- 
fecting a  union  of  the  Turks,  the  Kurds,  the 
Mohammedans  of  the  Caucasus,  the  Persians, 
the  Tartars  and  the  Turkomans  into  a  vast 
Turanian  Empire,  which  would  stretch  from 
the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean  to  the  borders 
of  China.  Though  the  realization  of  such  a 
scheme  is  exceedingly  improbable,  it  is  by  no 
means  as  far-fetched  or  chimerical  as  it  sounds, 
for  Enver  is  bold,  shrewd,  highly  intelligent 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?  197 

and  utterly  unscrupulous  and  to  weld  the  vari- 
ous races  of  his  proposed  empire  he  is  utilizing 
an  enormously  effective  agency — the  fanatical 
faith  of  all  Moslems  in  the  future  of  Islam. 
Neither  England  nor  France  have  any  desire 
to  stir  up  this  hornet's  nest,  which  would  prob- 
ably result  in  grave  disorders  among  their  own 
Moslem  subjects  and  which  would  almost  cer- 
tainly precipitate  widespread  massacres  of  the 
Christians  in  Asia  Minor,  for  the  sake  of  dis- 
membering Turkey  and  ousting  the  Sultan. 

I  have  tried  to  make  it  clear  that  there  is 
nothing  which  the  Turks  so  urgently  desire  as 
for  the  United  States  to  take  a  mandate  for  the 
whole  of  Turkey.  Those  who  are  in  touch 
with  public  opinion  in  this  country  realize,  of 
course,  that  the  people  of  the  United  States 
would  never  approve  of,  and  that  Congress 
would  never  give  its  assent  to  such  an  adven- 
ture, yet  there  are  a  considerable  number  of 
well-informed,  able  and  conscientious  men — 
former  Ambassador  Henry  Morgenthau  and 
President  Henry  King  of  Oberlin,  for  example 
— who  give  it  their  enthusiastic  support.  And 
they  are  backed  up  by  a  host  of  missionaries, 
commercial  representatives,  concessionaires  and 


198     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

special  commissioners  of  one  sort  and  another. 
When  I  was  in  Constantinople  the  European 
colony  in  that  city  was  watching  with  interest 
and  amusement  the  maneuvers  of  the  Turks  to 
bring  the  American  officials  around  to  accept- 
ing this  view  of  the  matter.  They  "rushed" 
the  rear  admiral  who  was  acting  as  American 
High  Commissioner  and  his  wife  as  the  mem- 
bers of  a  college  fraternity  "rush"  a  desirable 
freshman.  And,  come  to  think  of  it,  most  of 
the  American  officials  who  were  sent  out  to 
investigate  and  report  on  conditions  in  Turkey 
are  freshmen  when  it  comes  to  the  complexities 
of  Near  Eastern  affairs.  This  does  not  apply, 
of  course,  to  such  men  as  Consul-General 
Ravndal  at  Constantinople,  Consul-General 
Horton  at  Smyrna,  Dr.  Howard  Bliss,  Presi- 
dent of  the  Syrian  Protestant  College  at  Beirut, 
and  certain  others,  who  have  lived  in  the  Lev- 
ant for  many  years  and  are  intimately  familiar 
with  the  intricacies  of  its  politics  and  the  char- 
acters of  its  peoples.  But  it  does  apply  to 
those  officials  who,  after  hasty  and  personally 
conducted  tours  through  Asiatic  Turkey,  or  a 
few  months*  residence  in  the  Turkish  capital, 
are  accepted  as  "experts"  by  the  Peace  Con- 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?  199 

ference  and  by  the  Government  at  Washing- 
ton. When  I  listen  to  their  dogmatic  opinions 
on  subjects  of  which  most  of  them  were  in 
abysmal  ignorance  prior  to  the  Armistice,  I  am 
always  reminded  of  a  remark  once  made  to 
me  by  Sir  Edwin  Pears,  the  celebrated  historian 
and  authority  on  Turkish  affairs.  "I  don't  pre- 
tend to  understand  the  Turkish  character," 
Sir  Edwin  remarked  dryly,  "but,  you  see,  I 
have  lived  here  only  forty  years." 

It  is  an  interesting  and  altruistic  scheme,  this 
proposed  regeneration  at  American  expense  of 
a  corrupt  and  decadent  empire,  but  in  their  en- 
thusiasm its  supporters  seem  to  have  over- 
looked several  obvious  objections.  In  the  first 
place,  though  both  England  and  France  are 
perfectly  willing  to  have  the  United  States  ac- 
cept a  mandate  for  European  Turkey,  Armenia 
and  even  Anatolia,  I  doubt  if  England  would 
welcome  with  enthusiasm  a  proposal  that  she 
should  evacuate  Palestine  and  Mesopotamia, 
the  conquest  of  which  has  cost  her  so  much  in 
blood  and  gold,  or  whether  France  would  con- 
sent to  renounce  her  claims  to  Syria,  of  which 
she  has  always  considered  herself  the  legatee. 
As  for  Italy  and  Greece,  I  imagine  that  it  would 


200    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

prove  as  difficult  to  oust  the  one  from  Adalia 
and  the  other  from  Smyrna  as  it  has  been  to 
oust  the  Poet  from  Fiume.  Secondly,  such  a 
mandate  would  mean  the  end  of  Armenia's 
dream  of  independence,  for,  though  she  might 
be  given  a  certain  measure  of  autonomy,  and 
though  she  would,  of  course,  no  longer  be  ex- 
posed to  Turkish  massacres,  she  would  enjoy 
about  as  much  real  independence  under  such  an 
arrangement  as  the  native  states  of  India  enjoy 
under  the  British  Raj.  Lastly,  nothing  is 
further  from  our  intention,  if  I  know  the  tem- 
per of  my  countrymen,  than  to  assume  any  re- 
sponsibility in  order  to  resurrect  the  Turk,  nor 
are  we  interested  in  preserving  the  integrity  of 
Turkey  in  any  guise,  shape  or  form.  Instead 
of  perpetuating  the  unspeakable  rule  of  the 
Osmanli,  we  should  assist  in  ending  it  for- 
ever. 

And  now  we  come  to  the  question  of  accept- 
ing a  mandate  for  Armenia.  In  order  to  get 
a  mental  picture  of  this  foundling  which  we 
are  asked  to  rear  you  must  imagine  a  country 
about  the  size  of  North  Dakota,  with  Dakota's 
cold  winters  and  scorching  summers,  consisting 
of  a  dreary,  monotonous,  mile-high  plateau 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?  201 

with  grass-covered,  treeless  mountains  and 
watered  by  many  rivers,  whose  valleys  form 
wide  strips  of  arable  land.  Rising  above  the 
general  level  of  this  Armenian  tableland  are 
barren  and  forbidding  ranges,  broken  by  many 
gloomy  gorges,  which  culminate,  on  the  ex- 
treme northeast,  in  the  mighty  peak  of  Ararat, 
the  traditional  resting-place  of  the  Ark.  Ar- 
menia is  completely  hemmed  in  by  alien  and 
potentially  hostile  races.  On  the  northeast  are 
the  wild  tribes  of  the  Caucasus;  on  the  east  are 
the  Persians,  who,  though  not  hostile  to  Ar- 
menian aspirations,  are  of  the  faith  of  Islam; 
along  Armenia's  southern  border  are  the 
Kurds,  a  race  as  savage,  as  cruel  and  as  relent- 
less as  were  the  Apaches  of  our  own  West; 
on  the  east  is  Anatolia,  with  its  overwhelmingly 
Ottoman  population.  Before  the  war  the 
Armenians  in  the  six  Turkish  vilayets — Treb- 
izond,  Erzeroum,  Van,  Bitlis,  Mamuret-el- 
Aziz  and  Diarbekir — numbered  perhaps  2,- 
000,000,  as  compared  with  about  700,000 
Turks.  But  there  is  no  saying  how  many 
Armenians  remain,  for  during  the  past  five 
years  the  Turks  have  perpetrated  a  series  of 
wholesale  massacres  in  order  to  be  able  to  tell 


202     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

the  Christian  Powers,  as  a  Turkish  official 
cynically  remarked,  that  "one  cannot  make  a 
state  without  inhabitants. " 

As  just  and  accurate  an  estimate  of  the 
Armenian  character  as  any  I  have  read  is  that 
written  by  Sir  Charles  William  Wilson,  per-, 
haps  the  foremost  authority  on  the  subject,  for 
the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica :  "The  Armenians 
are  essentially  an  Oriental  people,  possessing, 
like  the  Jews,  whom  they  resemble  in  their  ex- 
clusiveness  and  widespread  dispersion,  a  re- 
markable tenacity  of  race  and  faculty  of 
adaptation  to  circumstances.  They  are  frugal, 
sober,  industrious  and  intelligent  and  their 
sturdiness  of  character  has  enabled  them  to 
preserve  their  nationality  and  religion  under 
the  sorest  trials.  They  are  strongly  attached 
to  old  manners  and  customs  but  have  also  a  real 
desire  for  progress  which  is  full  of  promise. 
On  the  other  hand  they  are  greedy  of  gain, 
quarrelsome  in  small  matters,  self-seeking  and 
wanting  in  stability;  and  they  are  gifted  with  a 
tendency  to  exaggeration  and  a  love  of  intrigue 
which  has  had  an  unfortunate  effect  on  their 
history.  They  are  deeply  separated  by  religious 
differences  and  their  mutual  jealousies,  their 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?  203 

inordinate  vanity,  their  versatility  and  their 
cosmopolitan  character  must  always  be  an 
obstacle  to  a  realization  of  the  dreams  of  the 
nationalists.  The  want  of  courage  and  self- 
reliance,  the  deficiency  in  truth  and  honesty 
sometimes  noticed  in  connection  with  them,  are 
doubtless  due  to  long  servitude  under  an  un- 
sympathetic government." 

It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  time  to  subordinate 
sentiment  to  common  sense  in  discussing  the 
question  of  Armenia.  I  have  known  many  Ar- 
menians and  I  have  the  deepest  sympathy  for 
the  woes  of  that  tragic  race,  but  if  the  Armeni- 
ans are  in  danger  of  extermination  their  fate 
is  a  matter  for  the  Allies  as  a  whole,  or  for 
the  League  of  Nations,  if  there  ever  is  one, 
but  not  for  the  United  States  alone.  To  ad- 
minister and  police  Armenia  would  probably 
require  an  army  corps,  or  upwards  of  50,000 
men,  and  I  doubt  if  a  force  of  such  size  could 
be  raised  for  service  in  so  remote  and  inhos- 
pitable a  region  without  great  difficulty.  My 
personal  opinion  is  that  the  Armenians,  if  given 
the  necessary  encouragement  and  assistance, 
are  capable  of  governing  themselves.  Certainly 
they  could  not  govern  themselves  more  wretch- 


204     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

edly  than  the  Mexicans,  yet  there  has  been  no 
serious  proposal  that  the  United  States  should 
take  a  mandate  for  Mexico.  Everything  con- 
sidered, I  am  convinced  that  the  highest  inter- 
ests of  Armenia,  of  America,  and  of  civiliza- 
tion would  be  best  served  by  making  Armenia 
an  independent  state,  having  much  the  same 
relation  to  the  United  States  as  Cuba.  Let  us 
finance  the  Armenian  Republic  by  all  means, 
let  us  lend  it  officers  to  organize  its  gendarme- 
rie and  teachers  for  its  schools,  let  us  send  it 
agricultural  and  sanitary  and  building  and 
financial  experts,  and  let  us  give  the  rest  of  the 
world,  particularly  the  Turks,  to  understand 
that  we  will  tolerate  no  infringement  of  its 
sovereignity.  Do  that,  set  the  Armenians  on 
their  feet,  safeguard  them  politically  and 
financially,  and  then  leave  them  to  work  out 
their  own  salvation. 

Though  prophesying  is  a  dangerous  business, 
and  likely  to  lead  to  embarrassment  and  cha- 
grin for  the  prophet,  I  am  willing  to  hazard  a 
guess  that  the  future  maps  of  what  was  once 
the  Ottoman  Dominions  will  be  laid  out  some- 
thing after  this  fashion:  Mesopotamia  will  be 
tinted  red,  because  it  will  be  British.  Pales- 


WILL  THE  SICK  MAN  RECOVER?  205 

tine  will  also  be  under  Britain's  aegis — a  little 
independent  Hebrew  state,  not  much  larger 
than  Panama.  Under  the  word  "Syria"  will 
appear  the  inscription  "French  Protectorate." 
The  Adalia  region  will  be  designated  "Italian 
Sphere  of  Influence,"  while  Smyrna  and  its 
immediate  hinterland  will  probably  be  labeled 
"Greek  Sphere."  Across  the  northeastern  cor- 
ner of  Asia  Minor  will  be  spread  the  words 
"Republic  of  Armenia"  and  beneath,  in  paren- 
theses, "Independence  guaranteed  by  the 
United  States."  The  whole  of  Anatolia,  save 
the  Greek  and  Italian  fringes  just  mentioned, 
will  be  occupied  and  ruled  by  the  Turks,  for  it 
is  their  ancestral  home.  The  fortifications  along 
the  Dardanelles  and  the  Bosphorus  will  be 
leveled  and  they,  with  Constantinople,  will  be 
under  some  form  of  international  control,  with 
equal  rights  for  all  nations.  But,  unless  I  am 
very  much  mistaken,  the  Turks  will  not  be 
driven  out  of  Europe,  as  has  so  long  been  pre- 
dicted; the  Ottoman  Government  will  not  re- 
tire to  Brusa,  in  Asia  Minor,  but  will  continue 
to  function  in  Stamboul,  and  the  Sultan,  as  the 
religious  head  of  Islam,  will  still  dwell  in  the 
great  white  palace  atop  of  Yildiz  hill. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHAT  THE  PEACE-MAKERS  HAVE 
DONE  ON  THE  DANUBE 

WHEN  I  called  upon  M.  Bratianu,  the 
Prime  Minister  of  Rumania,  who  was 
in  Paris  as  a  delegate  to  the  Peace  Conference, 
I  opened  the  conversation  by  innocently  re- 
marking that  I  proposed  to  spend  some  weeks 
in  his  country  during  my  travels  in  the  Balkans. 
But  I  got  no  further,  for  M.  Bratianu,  whose 
tremendous  shoulders  and  bristling  black  beard 
make  him  appear  even  larger  than  he  is,  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  brought  his  fist  crashing  down 
upon  the  table. 

"You  ought  to  know  better  than  that,  Major 
Powell,"  he  angrily  exclaimed.  "Rumania  is 
not  in  the  Balkans  and  never  has  been.  We 
object  to  being  called  a  Balkan  people.'7 

I  apologized  for  my  slip,  of  course,  and  ami- 
cable relations  were  resumed,  but  I  mention  the 

206 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    207 

incident  as  an  illustration  of  how  deeply  the 
Rumanians  resent  the  inclusion  of  their  country 
in  that  group  of  turbulent  kingdoms  which  com- 
pose what  some  one  has  aptly  called  the  Cock- 
pit of  Europe.  The  Rumanians  are  as  sensi- 
tive in  this  respect  as  are  the  haughty  and 
aristocratic  Creoles,  inordinately  proud  of  their 
French  or  Spanish  ancestry,  when  some  igno- 
rant Northerner  remarks  that  he  had  always 
supposed  that  Creoles  were  part  negro.  Not 
only  is  Rumania  not  one  of  the  Balkan  states, 
geographically  speaking,  but  the  Rumanians' 
idea  of  their  country's  importance  has  been 
enormously  increased  as  a  result  of  its  recent 
territorial  acquisitions,  which  have  made  it  the 
sixth  largest  country  in  Europe,  with  an  area 
very  nearly  equal  to  that  of  Italy  and  with  a 
population  three-fourths  that  of  Spain.  You 
were  not  aware,  perhaps,  that  the  width  of 
Greater  Rumania,  from  east  to  west,  is  as  great 
as  the  width  of  France  from  the  English  Chan- 
nel to  the  Mediterranean.  One  has  to  break 
into  a  run  to  keep  pace  with  the  march  of  geog- 
raphy these  days. 

Owing  to  the  demoralization  prevailing  in 
Thrace  and  Bulgaria,  railway  communications 


208     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

between  Constantinople  and  the  Rumanian 
frontier  were  so  disorganized  that  we  decided 
to  travel  by  steamer  to  Constantza,  taking  the 
railway  thence  to  Bucharest.  Before  the  war 
the  Royal  Rumanian  mail  steamer  Carol  I  was 
as  trim  and  luxuriously  fitted  a  vessel  as  one 
could  have  found  in  Levantine  waters.  For 
more  than  a  year,  however,  she  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  Bolsheviks,  so  that  when  we  boarded  her 
her  sides  were  red  with  rust,  her  cabins  had 
been  stripped  of  everything  which  could  be  car- 
ried away,  and  the  straw-filled  mattresses,  each 
covered  with  a  dubious-looking  blanket,  were 
as  full  of  unwelcome  occupants  as  the  Black 
Sea  was  of  floating  mines. 

Constantza,  the  chief  port  of  Rumania,  is 
superbly  situated  on  a  headland  overlooking 
the  Black  Sea.  It  has  an  excellent  harbor,  bor- 
dered on  one  side  by  a  number  of  large  grain 
elevators  and  on  the  other  by  a  row  of  enor- 
mous petroleum  tanks — the  latter  the  property 
of  an  American  corporation;  a  mile  or  so  of 
asphalted  streets,  several  surprisingly  fine  pub- 
lic buildings,  and,  on  the  beautifully  terraced 
and  landscaped  waterfront,  an  imposing  but 
rather  ornate  casino  and  many  luxurious  sum- 


0 

Id 

w    2 


H 

W    P4 
H       , 


8  s 

o  ^ 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    209 

mer  villas,  most  of  which  were  badly  damaged 
when  the  city  was  bombarded  by  the  Bulgars. 
Constantza  is  a  favorite  seaside  resort  for  Bu- 
charest society  and  during  the  season  its  plage 
is  thronged  with  summer  visitors  dressed  in  the 
height  of  the  Paris  fashion.  From  atop  his 
marble  pedestal  in  the  city's  principal  square  a 
statue  of  the  Roman  poet  Ovid,  who  lived  here 
in  exile  for  many  years,  looks  quizzically  down 
upon  the  light-hearted  throng. 

It  is  in  the  neighborhood  of  150  miles  by 
railway  from  Constantza  to  Bucharest  and  be- 
fore the  war  the  Orient  Express  used  to  make 
the  journey  in  less  than  four  hours.  Now  it 
takes  between  twenty  and  thirty.  We  made  a 
record  trip,  for  our  train  left  Constantza  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  pulled  into 
Bucharest  shortly  before  midnight.  It  is  only 
fair  to  explain,  however,  that  the  length  of 
time  consumed  in  the  journey  was  due  to  the 
fact  that  the  bridge  across  the  Danube  near 
Tchernavoda,  which  was  blown  up  by  the  Bul- 
gars, had  not  been  repaired,  thus  necessitating 
the  transfer  of  the  passengers  and  their  luggage 
across  the  river  on  flat-boats,  a  proceeding 
which  required  several  hours  and  was  marked 


210    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

by  the  wildest  confusion.  So  few  trains  are 
running  in  the  Balkans  that  there  are  never 
enough,  or  nearly  enough,  seats  to  accommo- 
date all  the  passengers,  so  that  fully  as  many 
ride  on  the  roofs  of  the  coaches  as  inside.  This 
has  the  advantage,  in  the  eyes  of  the  passen- 
gers, of  making  it  impracticable  for  the  con- 
ductor to  collect  the  fares,  but  it  also  has  cer- 
tain disadvantages.  During  our  trip  from  Con- 
stantza  to  Bucharest  three  roof  passengers 
rolled  off  and  were  killed. 

As  a  result  of  the  lengthy  occupation  of  the 
city  by  the  Austro-Germans,  and  their  system- 
atic removal  of  machinery  and  industrial  ma- 
terial of  every  description,  everything  is  out 
of  order  in  Bucharest.  Water,  electric  lights, 
gas,  telephones,  elevators,  street-cars  "ne 
marche  pas"  Though  we  had  a  large  and 
beautifully  furnished  room  in  the  Palace  Hotel 
we  had  to  climb  three  flights  of  stairs  to  reach 
it,  the  light  was  furnished  by  candles,  the  water 
for  the  bathroom  was  brought  in  buckets,  and, 
as  the  Germans  had  removed  the  wires  of  the 
house-telephones,  we  had  to  go  into  the  hall 
and  shout  when  we  required  a  servant.  Yet 
the  almost  total  lack  of  conveniences  does  not 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    211 

deter  the  hotels  from  making  the  most  exorbi- 
tant charges.  Bucharest  has  always  been  an 
expensive  city  but  to-day  the  prices  are  fantas- 
tic. At  Capsa's,  which  is  the  most  fashionable 
restaurant,  it  is  difficult  to  get  even  a  modest 
lunch  for  two  for  less  than  twelve  dollars. 
But,  notwithstanding  the  destruction  of  the  na- 
tion's chief  source  of  wealth,  its  oil  wells,  by 
the  Rumanians  themselves,  in  order  to  prevent 
their  use  by  the  enemy,  and  the  systematic  loot- 
ing of  the  country  by  the  invaders,  there  seems 
to  be  no  lack  of  money  in  Bucharest,  for  the 
restaurants  are  filled  to  the  doors  nightly,  there 
is  a  constant  fusillade  of  champagne  corks,  and 
in  the  various  gardens,  all  of  which  have  caba- 
ret performances,  the  popular  dancers  are 
showered  with  silver  and  notes.  In  fact,  a  cus- 
tomary evening  in  Bucharest  is  not  very  far 
removed,  in  its  gaiety  and  abandon,  from  a 
New  Year's  Eve  celebration  in  New  York.  Not 
even  Paris  can  offer  a  gayer  night  life  than  the 
Rumanian  capital,  for  at  the  Jockey  Club  it  is 
no  uncommon  thing  for  10,000  francs  to  change 
hands  on  the  turn  of  a  card  or  a  whirl  of  the 
roulette  wheel;  out  the  Chaussee  Kisselew,  at 
the  White  City,  the  dance  floor  is  crowded  until 


212     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

daybreak  with  slender,  rather  effeminate-look- 
ing officers  in  beautiful  uniforms  of  green  or 
pale  blue  and  superbly  gowned  and  bejewelled 
women.  Indeed,  I  doubt  if  there  is  any  city 
of  its  size  in  the  world  on  whose  streets  one 
sees  so  many  chic  and  beautiful  women, 
though  I  might  add  that  their  jewels  are 
generally  of  a  higher  quality  than  their  morals. 
As  long  as  these  bewitching  beauties  behave 
themselves  they  are  not  molested  by  the  police, 
who  seem  to  have  an  arrangement  with  the  ho- 
tel managements  looking  toward  their  control. 
When  Mrs.  Powell  and  I  arrived  at  our  hotel 
the  proprietor  asked  us  for  our  passports, 
which,  he  explained,  must  be  vised  by  the  police. 
The  following  morning  my  passport  was  re- 
turned alone. 

"But  where  is  my  wife's  passport?"  I  de- 
manded, for  in  Southern  Europe  in  these  days 
it  is  impossible  to  travel  even  short  distances 
without  one's  papers. 

"But  M'sieu  must  know  that  we  always  re- 
tain the  lady's  passport  until  he  leaves,"  said 
the  proprietor,  with  a  knowing  smile.  "Then, 
should  she  disappear  with  M'sieu's  watch,  or 
his  money,  or  his  jewels,  she  will  not  be  able  to 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    213 

leave  the  city  and  the  police  can  quickly  arrest 
her.  Yes,  it  is  the  custom  here.  A  neat  idea, 
hem?" 

Though  I  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  return 
of  Mrs.  Powell's  passport  I  am  not  at  all  cer- 
tain that  I  succeeded  in  entirely  convincing  the 
hotelier  that  she  really  was  my  wife. 

Rumania  is  at  present  passing  through  a  peri- 
od of  transition.  Not  only  have  the  area  and 
population  of  the  country  been  more  than  dou- 
bled, but  the  war  has  changed  all  other  condi- 
tions and  the  new  forms  of  national  life  are 
still  unsettled.  In  the  summer  of  1918  even 
the  most  optimistic  Rumanians  doubted  if  the 
nation  would  emerge  from  the  war  with  more 
than  a  fraction  of  its  former  territory,  yet  to- 
day, as  a  result  of  the  acquisition  of  Transyl- 
vania, Bessarabia  and  the  eastern  half  of  the 
Banat,  the  country's  population  has  risen  from 
seven  to  fourteen  millions  and  its  area  from 
50,000  to  more  than  100,000  square  miles.  The 
new  conditions  have  brought  new  laws.  Of  these 
the  most  revolutionary  is  the  law  which  for- 
bids landowners  to  retain  more  than  1,000 
acres  of  their  land,  the  government  taking  over 
and  paying  for  the  residue,  which  is  given  to 


214     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

the  peasants  to  cultivate.  As  a  result  of  this 
policy,  there  have  been  practically  no  strikes 
or  labor  troubles  in  Rumania,  for,  now  that 
most  of  their  demands  have  been  conceded,  the 
Rumanian  peasants  seem  willing  to  seek  their 
welfare  in  work  instead  of  Bolshevism.  Here- 
tofore the  Jews,  though  liable  to  military  ser- 
vice, have  not  been  permitted  a  voice  in  the 
government  of  their  country,  but,  as  a  result 
of  recent  legislation,  they  have  now  been 
granted  full  civil  rights,  though  whether  they 
will  be  permitted  to  exercise  them  is  another 
question.  The  Jews,  who  number  upwards  of 
a  quarter  of  a  million,  have  a  strangle  hold  on 
the  finances  of  the  country  and  they  must  not 
be  permitted,  the  Rumanians  insist,  to  get  a 
similar  grip  on  the  nation's  politics.  It  is  only 
very  recently,  indeed,  that  Rumanian  Jews  have 
been  granted  passports,  which  meant  that  only 
those  rich  enough  to  obtain  papers  by  bribery 
could  enter  or  leave  the  country.  The  Rumani- 
ans with  whom  I  discussed  the  question  said 
quite  frankly  that  the  legislation  granting  suf- 
frage to  the  Jews  would  probably  be  observed 
very  much  as  the  Constitutional  Amendment 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    215 

granting  suffrage  to  the  negroes  is  observed  in 
our  own  South. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  Rumania  is 
in  the  hands  of  a  clique  of  selfish  and  utterly  un- 
scrupulous politicians  who  have  grown  rich 
from  their  systematic  exploitation  of  the  na- 
tional resources.  Every  bank  and  nearly  every 
commercial  enterprise  of  importance  is  in  their 
hands.  One  of  the  present  ministers  entered 
the  cabinet  a  poor  man ;  to-day  he  is  reputed  to 
be  worth  twenty  millions.  Anything  can  be 
purchased  in  Rumania — passports,  exemption 
from  military  service,  cabinet  portfolios,  com- 
mercial concessions — if  you  have  the  money  to 
pay  for  it.  The  fingers  of  Rumanian  officials 
are  as  sticky  as  those  of  the  Turks.  An  officer 
of  the  American  Relief  Administration  told  me 
that  barely  sixty  per  cent,  of  the  supplies  sent 
from  the  United  States  for  the  relief  of  the 
Rumanian  peasantry  ever  reached  those  for 
whom  they  were  intended;  the  other  forty  per 
cent,  was  kept  by  various  officials.  To  find  a 
parallel  for  the  political  corruption  which  ex- 
ists throughout  Rumania  it  is  necessary  to  go 
back  to  New  York  under  the  Tweed  adminis- 
tration or  to  Mexico  under  the  Diaz  regime. 


216     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

From  a  wealthy  Hungarian  landowner,  with 
whom  I  traveled  from  Bucharest  to  the  fron- 
tier of  Jugoslavia,  I  obtained  a  graphic  idea 
of  what  can  be  accomplished  by  money  in  Ru- 
mania. This  young  Hungarian,  who  had  been 
educated  in  England  and  spoke  with  a  Cam- 
bridge accent,  possessed  large  estates  in  north- 
eastern Hungary.  After  four  years'  service  as 
an  officer  of  cavalry  he  was  demobilized  upon 
the  signing  of  the  Armistice.  When  the  revolu- 
tion led  by  Bela  Kun  broke  out  in  Budapest  he 
escaped  from  that  city  on  foot,  only  to  be  ar- 
rested by  the  Rumanians  as  he  was  crossing  the 
Rumanian  frontier.  Fortunately  for  him,  he 
had  ample  funds  in  his  possession,  obtained 
from  the  sale  of  the  cattle  on  his  estate,  so  that 
he  was  able  to  purchase  his  freedom  after 
spending  only  three  days  in  jail.  But  his  re- 
lease did  not  materially  improve  his  situation, 
for  he  had  no  passport  and,  as  Hungary  was 
then  under  Bolshevist  rule,  he  was  unable  to 
obtain  one.  And  he  realized  that  without  a 
passport  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  join 
his  wife  and  children,  who  were  awaiting  him 
in  Switzerland.  As  luck  would  have  it,  how- 
ever, he  was  slightly  acquainted  with  the  pre- 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    217 

feet  of  a  small  town  in  Transylvania — for  ob- 
vious reasons  I  shall  not  mention  its  name — 
which  he  finally  reached  after  great  difficulty, 
traveling  by  night  and  lying  hidden  by  day  so 
as  to  avoid  being  halted  and  questioned  by  the 
Rumanian  patrols.  By  paying  the  prefect  1,000 
francs  and  giving  him  and  his  friends  a  dinner 
at  the  local  hotel,  he  obtained  a  certificate  stat- 
ing that  he  was  a  citizen  of  the  town  and  in 
good  standing  with  the  local  authorities. 
Armed  with  this  document,  which  was  sufficient 
to  convince  inquisitive  border  officials  of  his 
Rumanian  nationality,  he  took  train  for  Bucha- 
rest, where  he  spent  five  weeks  dickering  for  a 
Rumanian  passport  which  would  enable  him  to 
leave  the  country.  Including  the  bribes  and 
entertainments  which  he  gave  to  officials,  and 
gifts  of  one  sort  and  another  to  minor  function- 
aries, it  cost  him  something  over  25,000  francs 
to  obtain  a  passport  duly  vised  for  Switzerland. 
But  my  friend's  anxieties  did  not  end  there,  for 
a  Rumanian  leaving  the  country  was  not  per- 
mitted to  take  more  than  1,000  francs  in  cur- 
rency with  him,  those  suspected  of  having  in 
their  possession  funds  in  excess  of  this  amount 
being  subjected  to  a  careful  search  at  the  fron- 


2i8     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

tier.  My  friend  had  with  him,  however,  sortie- 
thing  over  500,000  francs,  all  that  he  had  been 
able  to  realize  from  his  estates.  How  to  get 
this  sum  out  of  the  country  was  a  perplexing 
problem,  but  he  finally  solved  it  by  concealing 
the  notes,  which  were  of  large  denomination,  in 
the  bottom  of  a  box  of  expensive  face  powder, 
which,  he  explained  to  the  officials  at  the  fron- 
tier, he  was  taking  as  a  present  to  his  wife. 
When  the  train  drew  into  the  first  Serbian  sta- 
tion and  he  realized  that  he  was  beyond  the 
reach  of  pursuit,  he  capered  up  and  down  the 
platform  like  a  small  boy  when  school  closes 
for  the  long  vacation. 

Considerable  astonishment  seems  to  have 
been  manifested  by  the  American  press 
and  public  at  the  disinclination  of  Rumania  and 
Jugoslavia  to  sign  the  treaty  with  Austria  with- 
out reservations.  Yet  this  should  scarcely  oc- 
casion surprise,  for  the  attitude  of  the 
great  among  the  Allies  toward  the  smaller 
brethren  who  helped  them  along  the  road  to 
victory  has  been  at  times  blameworthy,  often 
inexplicable,  and  on  frequent  occasions  arro- 
gant and  tactless.  At  the  outset  of  the  Peace 
Conference  some  endeavor  was  made  to  live  up 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID     219 

to  the  promises  so  loudly  made  that  henceforth 
the  rights  of  the  weak  were  to  receive  as  much 
attention  as  those  of  the  strong.  Commissions 
were  formed  to  study  various  aspects  cf  the 
questions  involved  in  the  peace  and  upon  these 
the  representatives  of  the  smaller  nations  were 
given  seats.  But  this  did  not  last  long.  With- 
in a  month  Messrs.  Wilson,  Lloyd-George,  Cle- 
menceau  and  Orlando  had  made  themselves 
virtually  the  dictators  of  the  Peace  Confer- 
ence, deciding  behind  closed  doors  matters  of 
vital  moment  to  the  national  welfare  of  the 
small  states  without  so  much  as  taking  them 
into  consultation.  Prime  Minister  Bratianu, 
who  went  to  Paris  as  the  head  of  the  Rumanian 
peace  delegation,  told  me,  his  voice  hoarse  with 
indignation,  that  the  "Big  Four,"  in  settling 
Rumania's  future  boundaries,  had  not  only  not 
consulted  him  but  that  he  had  not  even  been  in- 
formed of  the  terms  decided  upon.  "They  hand 
us  a  fountain  pen  and  say  'Sign  here/  "  the 
Premier  exclaimed,  "and  then  they  are  sur- 
prised if  we  refuse  to  affix  our  signatures  to  a 
document  which  vitally  concerns  our  national 
future  but  about  which  we  have  never  been 
consulted." 


220     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

We  Americans,  of  all  peoples,  should  realize 
that  a  small  nation  is  as  jealous  of  its  indepen- 
dence as  a  large  one.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Ru- 
mania and  her  sister-states  of  Southeastern  Eu- 
rope, who  still  bear  the  scars  of  Turkish  op- 
pression, are  super-sensitive  in  this  respect,  the 
fact  that  they  have  so  often  been  the  victims 
of  intriguing  neighbors  making  them  more  than 
ordinarily  suspicious  and  resentful  toward  any 
action  which  tends  to  limit  their  mastery  of 
their  own  households.  Hence  they  regard  that 
clause  of  the  Treaty  of  St.  Germain  providing 
for  the  protection  of  ethnical  minorities  with 
an  indignation  which  cannot  easily  be  appreci- 
ated by  the  Western  nations.  The  boundaries 
of  the  new  and  aggrandized  states  of  South- 
eastern Europe  will  necessarily  include  alien 
minorities — this  cannot  be  avoided — and  the 
Peace  Conference  held  that  the  welfare  of  such 
minorities  must  be  the  special  concern  of  the 
League  of  Nations.  Take  the  case  of  Rumania, 
for  example.  In  order  to  unite  her  people  she 
must  annex  some  compact  masses  of  aliens 
which,  in  certain  cases  at  least,  have  been  de- 
liberately planted  within  ethnological  frontiers 
for  a  specific  purpose.  The  settlements  of  Mag- 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    221 

yars  in  Transylvania,  who,  under  Hungarian 
rule,  were  permitted  to  exploit  their  Rumanian 
neighbors  without  let  or  hindrance,  will  not 
willingly  surrender  the  privileges  they  have  so 
long  ejoyed  and  submit  to  a  regime  of  strict 
justice  and  equality.  On  the  other  hand,  Ru- 
mania can  scarcely  be  expected  to  agree  to  an 
arrangement  which  would  not  only  impair  her 
sovereignty  but  would  almost  certainly  encour- 
age intrigue  and  unrest  among  these  alien  mi- 
norities. How  would  the  United  States  regard 
a  proposal  to  submit  its  administration  of  the 
Philippines  to  international  control?  How 
would  England  like  the  League  of  Nations  to 
take  a  hand  in  the  government  of  Ireland? 
That,  briefly  stated,  is  the  reason  why  both 
Rumania  and  Jugoslavia  objected  so  strongly 
to  the  inclusion  of  the  so-called  racial  minori- 
ties clause  in  the  Treaty  of  St.  Germain.  Look- 
ing at  the  other  side  of  the  question,  it  is  easy 
to  understand  the  solicitude  which  the  treaty- 
makers  at  Paris  displayed  for  the  thousands  of 
Magyars,  Serbs  and  Bulgars  who,  without  so 
much  as  a  by-your-leave,  they  have  placed  un- 
der Rumanian  rule.  No  less  authority  than 
Viscount  Bryce  has  made  the  assertion  that  in 


222     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

Transylvania  alone  (which,  by  the  way,  has  an 
area  considerably  greater  than  all  our  New 
England  states  put  together),  which  has  been 
taken  over  by  Rumania,  fully  a  third  of  the 
population  has  no  affinity  with  the  Rumanians. 
Similarly,  there  are  whole  towns  in  the  Dobrud- 
ja  which  are  composed  of  Bulgarians,  there  are 
large  groups  of  Russian  Slavs  in  Bessarabia, 
and  considerable  colonies  of  Jugoslavs  in  the 
eastern  half  of  the  Banat  which,  very  much 
against  their  wishes,  have  been  forced  to  sub- 
mit to  Rumanian  rule.  Whether,  now  that  the 
tables  are  turned,  the  Rumanians  will  put  aside 
their  ancient  animosities  and  prejudices  and 
give  these  new  and  unwilling  citizens  every 
privilege  which  they  themselves  enjoy,  is  a 
question  which  only  the  future  can  solve. 

Another  question,  which  has  agitated  Ru- 
mania even  more  violently  than  that  of  the  ra- 
cial minorities  clause,  was  the  demand  made 
by  the  Great  Powers  that  the  Rumanian  army 
be  withdrawn  from  Hungary  and  that  the  live- 
stock and  agricultural  implements  of  which  that 
unhappy  country  was  stripped  by  the  Rumanian 
forces  be  immediately  returned.  Here  is  the 
Rumanian  version:  Hungary  went  Bolshevist 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    223 

and  assumed  a  hostile  attitude  toward  Ruma- 
nia, Czechoslovakia  and  Jugoslavia,  the  three 
countries  which  will  benefit  by  her  dismember- 
ment according  to  the  principle  of  nationality. 
Hungary  attacked  these  countries  by  arms  and 
by  anarchistic  propaganda.  The  Rumanians, 
the  Czechoslovaks  and  the  Jugoslavs,  wishing 
to  defend  themselves,  asked  permission  of  the 
Supreme  Council  to  deal  drastically  with  the 
Hungarian  menace.  The  reply,  which  was  late 
in  coming,  was  couched  in  vague  and  unsatis- 
factory language.  Emboldened  by  the  vacilla- 
tory  attitude  of  the  Powers,  the  Hungarians 
began  a  military  offensive,  invading  Czecho- 
slovakia and  crossing  the  lines  of  the  Armistice 
in  Rumania  and  Jugoslavia.  In  order  to  pre- 
vent a  spread  of  this  Bolshevist  movement  the 
three  countries  prepared  to  occupy  Hungary 
with  troops,  whereupon  a  command  came  from 
the  Supreme  Council  in  Paris  that  such  aggres- 
sion would  not  be  tolerated.  This  encouraged 
Bela  Kun,  the  Hungarian  Trotzky,  and  made 
him  so  popular  that  he  succeeded  in  raising  a 
Red  army  with  which  he  crossed  the  River 
Theiss  and  invaded  Rumania.  Whereupon  the 
Rumanian  army,  being  unable  to  obtain  sup- 


224     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

port  from  the  Supreme  Council,  pushed  back 
the  Hungarians,  occupied  Budapest,  overthrew 
Bela  Kun's  administration  and  restored  order 
in  Hungary.  But  the  Supreme  Council,  feel- 
ing that  its  authority  had  been  ignored  by  the 
little  country,  sent  several  messages  to  the  Ru- 
manian Government  peremptorily  ordering  it 
to  withdraw  its  troops  immediately  from  Hun- 
gary. Here  endeth  the  Rumanian  version. 

Now  the  real  reason  which  actuated  the  Su- 
preme Council  was  not  that  it  felt  that  its  au- 
thority had  been  slighted,  but  because  it  was 
informed  by  its  representatives  in  Hungary  that 
the  Rumanians  had  not  stopped  with  ousting 
Bela  Kun  and  suppressing  Bolshevism,  but  were 
engaged  in  systematically  looting  the  country, 
driving  off  thousands  of  head  of  livestock,  and 
carrying  away  all  the  machinery,  rolling  stock, 
telephone  and  telegraph  wires  and  instruments 
and  metalwork  they  could  lay  their  hands  on, 
thereby  completely  crippling  the  industries  of 
Hungary  and  depriving  great  numbers  of  peo- 
ple of  employment.  The  Rumanians  retorted 
that  the  Austro-German  armies  had  systemati- 
cally looted  Rumania  during  their  three  years 
of  occupation  and  that  they  were  only  taking 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    225 

back  what  belonged  to  them.  The  Hungarians, 
while  admitting  that  Rumania  had  been  pretty 
thoroughly  stripped  of  animals  and  machinery 
by  von  Mackensen's  armies,  asserted  that  this 
loot  had  not  remained  in  Hungary  but  had 
been  taken  to  Germany,  which  was  probably 
true.  The  Supreme  Council  took  the  position 
that  the  animals  and  material  which  the  Ruma- 
nians were  rushing  out  of  Hungary  in  train- 
loads  was  not  the  sole  property  of  Rumania, 
but  that  it  was  the  property  of  all  the  Allies, 
and  that  the  Supreme  Council  would  apportion 
it  among  them  in  its  own  good  time.  The 
Council  pointed  out,  furthermore,  that  if  the 
Rumanians  succeeded  in  wrecking  Hungary  in- 
dustrially, as  they  were  evidently  trying  to  do, 
it  would  be  manifestly  impossible  for  the  Hun- 
garians to  pay  any  war  indemnity  whatsoever. 
And  finally,  that  a  bankrupt  and  starving  Hun- 
gary meant  a  Bolshevist  Hungary  and  that 
there  was  already  enough  trouble  of  that  sort 
in  Eastern  Europe  without  adding  to  it.  The 
Rumanians  proving  deaf  to  these  arguments, 
the  Supreme  Council  sent  three  messages,  one 
after  the  other,  to  the  Bucharest  government, 
ordering  the  immediate  withdrawal  from  Hun- 


226    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

garian  soil  of  the  Rumanian  troops.  Yet  the 
Rumanian  troops  remained  in  Budapest  and  the 
looting  of  Hungary  continued,  the  Rumanian 
government  declaring  that  the  messages  had 
never  been  received.  Meanwhile  every  one  in 
the  kingdom,  from  Premier  to  peasant,  was 
laughing  in  his  sleeve  at  the  helplessness  of  the 
Supreme  Council.  But  they  laughed  too  soon. 
For  the  Supreme  Council  wired  to  the  Food 
Administrator,  Herbert  Hoover,  who  was  in 
Vienna,  informing  him  of  the  facts  of  the  situa- 
tion, whereupon  Mr.  Hoover,  who  has  a  blunt 
and  uncomfortably  direct  way  of  achieving  his 
ends,  sent  a  curt  message  to  the  Rumanian 
government  informing  it  that,  if  the  orders  of 
the  Supreme  Council  were  not  immediately 
obeyed,  he  would  shut  off  its  supplies  of  food. 
That  message  produced  action.  The  troops 
were  withdrawn.  I  can  recall  no  more  striking 
example  of  the  amazing  changes  brought  about 
in  Europe  by  the  Great  War  than  the  picture 
of  this  boyish-faced  Californian  mining  engi- 
neer coolly  giving  orders  to  a  European  gt>v- 
ernment,  and  having  those  orders  promptly 
obeyed,  after  the  commands  of  the  Great  Pow- 
ers had  been  met  with  refusal  and  derision.  To 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    227 

take  a  slight  liberty  with  the  lines  of  Mr.  Kip- 
ling— 

"The  Kings  must  come  down  and  the  Emperors  frown 
When  Herbert  Hoover  says  'Stop!'" 

Up  to  that  time  the  United  States  had  been 
immensely  popular  in  Rumania.  But  Mr.  Hoo- 
ver's action  made  us  about  as  popular  with  the 
Rumanians  as  the  smallpox.  He  and  we  were 
charged  with  being  actuated  by  the  most  des- 
picable and  sordid  motives.  The  King  him- 
self told  me  that  he  was  convinced  that  Mr. 
Hoover  was  in  league  with  certain  great  com- 
mercial interests  which  wished  to  take  their  re- 
venge for  their  failure  to  obtain  commercial 
concessions  of  great  value  in  Rumania.  A  cabi- 
net minister,  in  discussing  the  incident  with  me, 
became  so  inarticulate  with  rage  that  he  could 
scarcely  talk  at  all. 

But  the  United  States  is  not  the  only  country 
which  has  lost  the  confidence  of  the  Rumanians. 
France  is  even  more  deeply  distrusted  and  dis- 
liked than  we  are.  And  this  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  the  upper  classes  of  Rumania  have 
held  up  the  French  as  their  ideal  for  the  past 
fifty  years.  Indeed,  wealthy  Rumanians  live 


228     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

in  a  fashion  more  French  than  if  they  dwelt  in 
Paris  itself.  This  sudden  unpopularity  of  the 
French  is  due  to  several  causes.  After  having 
expected  much  of  them,  the  people  were 
amazed  and  bitterly  disappointed  at  their  ap- 
parent indifference  toward  the  future  of  Ru- 
mania. Then  there  were  the  unfortunate  inci- 
dents at  Odessa,  the  withdrawal  of  the  French 
forces  from  that  city  before  the  advance  of  the 
Bolsheviks,  and  the  regrettable  happening  in 
the  French  Black  Sea  fleet.  These  things,  of 
course,  contributed  to  loss  of  French  prestige. 
Another  contributory  factor  has  been  the  lack 
of  enterprise  of  French  capitalists,  causing 
those  who  control  the  financial  and  economic 
development  of  Rumania  to  seek  encourage- 
ment and  assistance  elsewhere.  But  the  under- 
lying reason  for  the  deep-seated  distrust  of 
France  is  to  be  found,  I  think,  in  France's  at- 
tempt to  maintain  the  balance  of  power  in 
Southeastern  Europe  by  building  up  a  strong 
Jugoslavia.  Now  the  Rumanians,  it  must  be 
remembered,  hate  the  Jugoslavs  even  more  bit- 
terly than  they  hate  the  Hungarians — and  they 
are  far  more  afraid  of  them.  This  hatred  is 
not  merely  the  result  of  the  age-long  antago- 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    229 

nism  between  the  Latin  and  the  Slav;  it  is  also 
political.  The  Rumanians  have  watched  with 
growing  jealousy  and  apprehension  the  expan- 
sion of  Serbia  into  a  state  with  a  population 
and  area  nearly  equal  to  their  own.  After  hav- 
ing long  dreamed  of  the  day  when  they  would 
themselves  be  arbiters  of  the  destinies  of  the 
nations  of  Southeastern  Europe,  they  see  their 
political  supremacy  challenged  by  the  new  King- 
dom of  the  Serbs,  Croats  and  Slovenes,  behind 
which  they  discern  the  power  and  influence  of 
France.  When  the  dismemberment  of  the  Aus- 
tro-Hungarian  Empire  began,  Rumania  de- 
manded and  expected  the  whole  of  the  great 
rich  province  of  the  Banat,  with  the  Maros 
River  for  her  northern  and  the  Danube  for  her 
southern  frontier. 

"But  that  would  place  our  capital  within 
range  of  the  Rumanian  artillery,"  the  Serbian 
prime  minister  is  said  to  have  exclaimed. 

"Then  move  your  capital,"  the  Rumanian 
premier  responded  drily. 

As  a  result  of  this  controversy  over  the  Ba- 
nat the  relations  of  the  two  nations  have  been 
strained  almost  to  the  breaking-point.  When 
I  was  in  the  Banat  in  the  autumn  of  1919  the 


230     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

Rumanian  and  Serbian  frontier  guards  were 
glowering  at  each  other  like  fighting  terriers 
held  in  leash,  and  the  slightest  untoward  inci- 
dent would  have  precipitated  a  conflict  Al- 
though, by  the  terms  of  the  Treaty  of  St.  Ger- 
main, Jugoslavia  was  awarded  the  western  half 
of  the  Banat,  Rumania  is  prepared  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  first  opportunity  which  presents 
itself  to  take  it  away  from  her  rival.  When  I 
was  in  Bucharest  a  cabinet  minister  concluded 
a  lengthy  exposition  of  Rumania's  position  by 
declaring: 

"Within  the  next  two  or  three  years,  in  all 
probability,  there  will  be  a  war  between  Jugo- 
slavia and  Italy  over  the  Dalmatian  question. 
The  day  that  Jugoslavia  goes  to  war  with  Italy 
we  will  attack  Jugoslavia  and  seize  the  Banat. 
The  Danube  is  Rumania's  natural  and  logical 
frontier." 

This  would  seem  to  bear  out  the  assertion 
that  there  exists  a  secret  alliance  between  Italy 
and  Rumania,  which,  if  true,  would  place  Jugo- 
slavia in  the  unhappy  postion  of  a  nut  between 
the  jaws  of  a  cracker.  I  have  also  been  told 
on  excellent  authority  that  there  is  likewise  an 
"understanding"  between  Italy  and  Bulgaria 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    231 

that,  should  the  former  become  engaged  in  a 
war  with  the  Jugoslavs,  the  latter  will  attack 
the  Serbs  from  the  east  and  regain  her  lost 
provinces  in  Macedonia.  A  pleasant  prospect 
for  Southeastern  Europe,  truly. 

While  we  were  in  Bucharest  we  received  an 
invitation — "command"  is  the  correct  word  ac- 
cording to  court  usage — to  visit  the  King  and 
Queen  of  Rumania  at  their  Chateau  of  Pelesch, 
near  Sinaia,  in  the  Carpathians.  It  is  about  a 
hundred  miles  by  road  from  the  capital  to  Si- 
naia and  the  first  half  of  the  journey,  which 
we  made  by  motor,  was  over  a  road  as  execra- 
ble as  any  we  found  in  the  Balkans.  Upon 
reaching  the  foothills  of  the  Carpathians,  how- 
ever, the  highway,  which  had  been  steadily 
growing  worse,  suddenly  took  a  turn  for  the 
better — due,  no  doubt,  to  the  invigorating  quali- 
ties of  the  mountain  atmosphere — and  climbed 
vigorously  upward  through  wild  gorges  and 
splendid  pine  forests  which  reminded  me  of  the 
Adirondacks  of  Northern  New  York.  Not- 
withstanding the  atrocious  condition  of  the 
highway,  which  constantly  threatened  to  dis- 
locate our  joints  as  well  as  those  of  the  car, 
and  the  choking,  blinding  clouds  of  yellow 


232     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

dust,  every  change  of  figure  on  the  speedometer 
brought  new  and  interesting  scenes.  For  mile 
after  mile  the  road,  straight  as  though  marked 
out  by  a  ruler,  ran  between  fields  of  wheat  and 
corn  as  vast  as  those  of  our  own  West.  In 
spite  of  the  fact  that  the  Austro-Germans  car- 
ried off  all  the  animals  and  farming  implements 
they  could  lay  their  hands  on,  the  agricultural 
prosperity  of  Rumania  is  astounding.  In  1916, 
for  example,  while  involved  in  a  terribly  de* 
structive  war,  Rumania  produced  more  wheat 
than  Minnesota  and  about  twenty-five  times  as 
much  corn  as  our  three  Pacific  Coast  states 
combined.  At  frequent  intervals  we  passed  huge 
scarlet  threshing  machines,  most  of  them  la- 
beled "Made  in  U.S.A.,"  which  were  centers 
of  activity  for  hundreds  of  white-smocked  peas- 
ants who  were  hauling  in  the  grain  with  ox- 
teams,  feeding  it  into  the  voracious  maws  of 
the  machines,  and  piling  the  residue  of  straw 
into  the  largest  stacks  I  have  ever  seen.  As 
we  drew  near  the  mountains  the  grain  fields 
gave  way  to  grazing  lands  where  great  herds 
of  cattle  of  various  breeds — brindled  milch  ani- 
mals, massive  cream-colored  oxen,  blue-gray 
buffalo  with  elephant  like  hides  and  broad,  curv- 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    233 

ing  horns,  and  gaunt  steers  that  looked  for  all 
the  world  like  Texas  longhorns — browsed  amid 
the  lush  green  grass. 

Though  the  villages  of  the  Wallachian  plain 
are  few  and  far  between,  and  though  it  is  no 
uncommon  thing  for  a  peasant  to  walk  a  dozen 
miles  from  his  home  to  the  fields  in  which  he 
works,  the  whole  region  seemed  a-hum  with 
industry.  The  Rumanian  peasant,  like  his  fel- 
lows below  the  Danube,  is,  as  a  rule,  a  good- 
natured,  easy-going  though  easily  excited,  rea- 
sonably honest  and  extremely  industrious  fel- 
low who  labors  from  dawn  to  darkness  in  six 
days  of  the  week  and  spends  the  seventh  in 
harmless  village  carouses,  chiefly  characterized 
by  dancing,  music  and  the  cheap  native  wine. 
Rumania  is  one  of  the  few  countries  in  Europe 
where  the  peasants  still  dress  like  the  pictures 
on  the  postcards.  The  men  wear  curly-brimmed 
shovel  hats  of  black  felt,  like  those  affected  by 
English  curates,  and  loose  shirts  of  white  linen, 
whose  tails,  instead  of  being  tucked  into  the 
trousers,  flap  freely  about  their  legs,  giving 
them  the  appearance  of  having  responded  to  an 
alarm  of  fire  without  waiting  to  finish  dressing. 
On  Sundays  and  holidays  men  and  women  alike 


234     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

appear  in  garments  covered  with  the  gorgeous 
needlework  for  which  Rumania  is  famous,  some 
of  the  women's  dresses  being  so  heavily  em- 
broidered in  gold  and  silver  that  from  a  little 
distance  the  wearers  look  as  though  they  were 
enveloped  in  chain  mail.  A  considerable  and 
undesirable  element  of  Rumania's  population 
consists  of  gipsies,  whence  their  name  of  Ro- 
many, or  Rumani.  The  Rumanian  gipsies,  who 
are  nomads  and  vagrants  like  their  kinsmen  in 
the  United  States,  are  generally  lazy,  quarrel- 
some, dishonest  and  untrustworthy,  supporting 
themselves  by  horse-trading  and  cattle-stealing 
or  by  their  flocks  and  herds.  We  stopped  near 
one  of  their  picturesque  encampments  in  order 
to  repair  a  tire  and  I  took  a  picture  of  a  young 
woman  with  a  child  in  her  arms,  but  when  I 
declined  to  pay  her  the  five  lei  she  demanded 
for  the  privilege,  she  flew  at  me  like  an  angry 
cat,  screaming  curses  and  maledictions.  But 
her  picture  was  not  worth  five  lei,  as  you  can 
see  for  yourself. 

The  Castle  of  Pelesch  is  just  such  a  royal 
residence  as  Anthony  Hope  has  depicted  in  The 
Prisoner  of  Zenda.  It  gives  the  impression, 
at  first  sight,  of  a  confusion  of  turrets,  gables, 


Q  W 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    235 

balconies,  terraces,  parapets  and  fountains,  but 
one  quickly  forgets  its  architectural  shortcom- 
ings in  the  beauty  of  its  surroundings.  It  stands 
amid  velvet  lawns  and  wonderful  rose  gardens 
in  a  sort  of  forest  glade,  from  which  the  pine- 
clothed  slopes  of  the  Carpathians  rise  steeply 
on  every  side,  the  beam-and-plaster  walls,  the 
red-tiled  roofs,  and  the  blazing  gardens  of  the 
chateau  forming  a  striking  contrast  to  the  au- 
sterity of  the  mountains  and  the  solemnity  of 
the  encircling  forest. 

We  had  rather  expected  to  be  presented  to 
Queen  Marie  with  some  semblance  of  formal- 
ity in  one  of  the  reception  rooms  of  the  chateau, 
but  she  sent  word  by  her  lady-in-waiting  that 
she  would  receive  us  in  the  gardens.  A  few 
minutes  later  she  came  swinging  toward  us 
across  a  great  stretch  of  rolling  lawn,  a  splen- 
did figure  of  a  woman,  dressed  in  a  magnificent 
native  costume  of  white  and  silver,  a  white 
scarf  partially  concealing  her  masses  of  tawny 
hair,  a  long-bladed  poniard  in  a  silver  sheath 
hanging  from  her  girdle.  At  her  heels  were 
a  dozen  Russian  wolf  hounds,  the  gift,  so  she 
told  me,  of  the  Grand  Duke  Nicholas,  the  for- 
mer commander-in-chief  of  the  Russian  armies. 


236     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

I  have  seen  many  queens,  but  I  have  never  seen 
one  who  so  completely  meets  the  popular  con- 
ception of  what  a  queen  should  look  like  as 
Marie  of  Rumania.  Though  in  the  middle  for- 
ties, her  complexion  is  so  faultless,  her  phy- 
sique so  superb,  her  presence  so  commanding 
that,  were  she  utterly  unknown,  she  would  still 
be  a  center  of  attraction  in  any  assemblage. 
Had  she  not  been  born  to  a  crown  she  would 
almost  certainly  have  made  a  great  name  for 
herself,  probably  as  an  actress.  She  paints  ex- 
ceptionally well  and  has  written  several  suc- 
cessful books  and  stories,  thereby  following  the 
example  of  her  famous  predecessor  on  the  Ru- 
manian throne,  Queen  Elizabeth,  better  known 
as  Carmen  Sylva.  She  speaks  English  like  an 
Englishwoman,  as  well  she  may,  for  she  is 
a  granddaughter  of  Queen  Victoria.  She  is 
also  a  descendant  of  the  Romanoffs,  for  one  of 
her  grandfathers  was  Alexander  III  of  Russia. 
In  her  manner  she  is  more  simple  and  demo- 
cratic than  many  American  women  that  I  know, 
her  poise  and  simplicity  being  in  striking  con- 
trast to  the  manners  of  two  of  my  countrywom- 
en who  had  spent  the  night  preceding  our  ar- 
rival at  the  castle  and  who  were  manifestly  much 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    237 

impressed  by  this  contact  with  the  Lord's  An- 
ointed.  When  luncheon  was  announced  her  sec- 
ond daughter,  Princess  Marie,  had  not  put  in  an 
appearance.  But,  instead  of  despatching  the 
major  domo  to  inform  her  Royal  Highness  that 
the  meal  was  served,  the  Queen  stepped  to  the 
foot  of  the  great  staircase  and  called,  "Hurry 
up,  Mignon.  You're  keeping  us  all  waiting," 
whereupon  a  voice  replied  from  the  upper  re- 
gions, "All  right,  mamma.  I'll  be  down  in  a 
minute."  Not  much  like  the  picture  of  palace 
life  that  the  novelists  and  the  motion-picture 
playwrights  give  us,  is  it?  I  might  add  that  the 
Queen  commonly  refers  to  the  plump  young 
princess  as  "Fatty,"  a  nickname  which  she  hard- 
ly deserves,  however.  In  her  conversations 
with  me  the  Queen  was  at  times  almost  dis- 
concertingly frank.  "Royalty  is  going  out  of 
fashion,"  she  remarked  on  one  occasion,  "but 
I  like  my  job  and  I'm  going  to  do  everything 
I  can  to  keep  it."  To  Mrs.  Powell  she  said,  "I 
have  beauty,  intelligence  and  executive  ability. 
I  would  be  successful  in  life  if  I  were  not  a 
queen." 

Unlike  many  persons  who  occupy  exalted  po- 
sitions, she  has  a  real  sense  of  humor. 


238     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

"Yesterday,"  she  remarked,  "was  Nicholas's 
birthday,"  referring  to  her  second  son,  Prince 
Nicholas,  who,  since  his  elder  brother,  Prince 
Carol,  renounced  his  rights  to  the  throne  in  or- 
der to  marry  the  girl  he  loved,  has  become  the 
heir  apparent.  "At  breakfast  his  father  re- 
marked, Tm  sorry,  Nicholas,  but  I  haven't  any 
birthday  present  for  you.  The  shops  in  Bu- 
charest were  pretty  well  cleaned  out  by  the  Ger- 
mans, you  know,  and  I  didn't  remember  your 
birthday  in  time  to  send  to  Paris  for  a  present.' 
'Do  you  really  wish  to  give  Nicholas  a  pres- 
ent, Nando?'  (the  diminutive  of  Ferdinand) 
I  asked  him.  'Of  course  I  do,'  the  King  an- 
swered, 'but  what  is  there  to  give  him?'  'That's 
the  easiest  thing  in  the  world,'  I  replied.  There 
is  nothing  that  would  give  Nicholas  so  much 
pleasure  as  an  engraving  of  his  dear  father — 
on  a  thousand-franc  note.' ' 

Prince  Nicholas,  the  future  king  of  Rumania, 
who  is  being  educated  at  Eton,  looks  and  acts 
like  any  normal  American  "prep"  school  boy. 

"Do  the  boys  still  wear  top  hats  at  Eton?" 
I  asked  him. 

"Yes,  they  do,"  he  answered,  "but  it's  a  silly 
custom.  And  they  cost  two  guineas  apiece.  I 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    239 

leave  it  to  you,  Major,  if  two  guineas  isn't  too 
much  for  any  hat." 

When  I  told  him  that  in  democratic  America 
certain  Fifth  Avenue  hatters  charge  the  equiva- 
lent of  five  guineas  for  a  bowler  he  looked  at 
me  in  frank  unbelief.  "But  then,"  he  remarked, 
"all  Americans  are  rich." 

Shortly  before  luncheon  we  were  joined  by 
King  Ferdinand,  a  slenderly  built  man,  some- 
what under  medium  height,  with  a  grizzled 
beard,  a  genial  smile  and  merry,  twinkling  eyes. 
He  wore  the  gray-green  field  uniform  and  gold- 
laced  kepi  of  a  Rumanian  general,  the  only 
thing  about  his  dress  which  suggested  his  ex- 
alted rank  being  the  insignia  of  the  Order  of 
Michael  the  Brave,  which  hung  from  his  neck 
by  a  gold-and-purple  ribbon.  Were  you  to  see 
him  in  other  clothes  and  other  circumstances 
you  might  well  mistake  him  for  an  active  and 
successful  professional  man.  King  Ferdinand 
is  the  sort  of  man  one  enjoys  chatting  with  in 
front  of  an  open  fire  over  the  cigars,  for,  in 
addition  to  being  a  shrewd  judge  of  men  and 
events  and  having  a  remarkably  exact  knowl- 
edge of  world  affairs,  he  possesses  in  an  alto- 


24o    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

gether  exceptional  degree  the  qualities  of  tact, 
kindliness  and  humor. 

The  King  did  not  hesitate  to  express  his  in- 
dignation that  the  re-making  of  the  map  of 
Europe  should  have  been  entrusted  to  men  who 
possessed  so  little  first-hand  knowledge  of  the 
nations  whose  boundaries  they  were  re-shaping. 

"A  few  days  before  the  signing  of  the  Treaty 
of  St.  Germain,"  he  told  me,  "Lloyd  George 
sent  for  one  of  the  experts  attached  to  the 
Peace  Conference. 

:  Where  is  this  Banat  that  Rumania  and 
Serbia  are  quarreling  over?'  he  inquired. 

*  'I  will  show  you,  sir,'  the  attache  answered, 
unrolling  a  map  of  southeastern  Europe.  For 
several  minutes  he  explained  in  detail  to  the 
British  Premier  the  boundaries  of  the  Banat 
and  the  conflicting  territorial  claims  to  which  its 
division  had  given  rise.  But  when  he  paused 
Lloyd  George  made  no  response.  He  was  sound 
asleep ! 

"Yet  a  little  group  of  men,"  the  King  con- 
tinued, "who  know  no  more  about  the  nations 
whose  destinies  they  are  deciding  than  Lloyd 
George  knew  about  the  Banat,  have  abrogated 
to  themselves  the  right  to  cut  up  and  apportion 


WHAT  PEACE-MAKERS  DID    241 

territories  as  casually  as  though  they  were  di- 
viding apple-tarts." 

The  impression  prevails  in  other  countries 
that  it  is  Queen  Marie  who  is  really  the  head 
of  the  Rumanian  royal  family  and  that  the 
King  is  little  more  than  a  figurehead.  With  this 
estimate  I  do  not  agree.  Rumania  could  have 
no  better  spokesman  than  Queen  Marie,  whose 
talents,  beauty,  and  exceptional  tact  peculiarly 
fit  her  for  the  difficult  role  she  has  been  called 
upon  to  play.  But  the  King,  though  he  is  by 
nature  quiet  and  retiring,  is  by  no  means  lack- 
ing in  political  sagacity  or  the  courage  of  his 
convictions,  being,  I  am  convinced,  as  impor- 
tant a  factor  in  the  government  of  his  country 
as  the  limitations  of  its  constitution  permit. 
Though  none  too  well  liked,  I  imagine,  by  the 
professional  politicians,  who  in  Rumania,  as  in 
other  countries,  resent  any  attempt  at  inter- 
ference by  the  sovereign  with  their  plans,  the 
royal  couple  are  immensely  popular  with  the 
masses  of  the  people,  Ferdinand  frequently  be- 
ing referred  to  as  "the  peasants'  King."  In 
the  darkest  days  of  the  war,  when  Rumania 
was  overrun  by  the  enemy  and  it  seemed  as 
though  Moldavia  and  the  northern  Dobrudja 


242     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

were  all  that  could  be  saved  to  the  nation,  King 
Ferdinand  and  Queen  Marie,  instead  of  escap- 
ing from  their  country  or  asking  the  enemy  for 
terms,  retreated  with  the  army  to  Jassy,  on  the 
easternmost  limits  of  the  kingdom,  where  they 
underwent  the  horrors  of  that  terrible  winter 
with  their  soldiers,  the  King  serving  with  the 
troops  in  the  field  and  the  Queen  working  in 
the  hospitals  as  a  Red  Cross  nurse.  Less  than 
three  years  later,  however,  on  November  twen- 
tieth, 1919,  there  assembled  in  Bucharest  the 
first  parliament  of  Greater  Rumania,  attended 
by  deputies  from  all  those  Rumanian  regions 
— Bessarabia,  Transylvania,  the  Banat,  the  Bu- 
covina and  the  Dobrudja — which  had  been  re- 
stored to  the  Rumanian  motherland.  At  the 
head  of  the  chamber,  in  the  great  gilt  chair  of 
state,  sat  Ferdinand  I,  who,  from  the  fugitive 
ruler,  shivering  with  his  ragged  soldiers  in  the 
frozen  marshes  beside  the  Pruth,  has  become 
the  sovereign  of  a  country  having  the  sixth 
largest  population  in  Europe  and  has  taken  his 
place  in  Rumanian  history  beside  Stephen  the 
Great  and  Michael  the  Brave  as  Ferdinand  the 
Liberator. 


CHAPTER  VII 
MAKING  A  NATION  TO  ORDER 

FROM  the  young  officers  who  wore  on  their 
shoulders  the  silver  greyhound  of  the 
American  Courier  Service  we  heard  many  dis- 
couraging tales  of  the  annoyances  and  discom- 
forts for  which  we  must  be  prepared  in  travel- 
ing through  Hungary,  the  Banat  and  Jugo- 
slavia. But,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  did  not  take 
these  warnings  very  seriously,  for  I  had  ob- 
served that  a  profoundly  pessimistic  attitude 
of  mind  characterized  all  of  the  Americans  or 
English  whose  duties  had  kept  them  in  the 
Balkans  for  any  length  of  time.  In  Salonika 
this  mental  condition  was  referred  to  as  "the 
Balkan  tap" — derived,  no  doubt,  from  the  verb 
"to  knock,"  as  with  a  hammer — and  it  usually 
implied  that  those  suffering  from  the  ailment 
had  outstayed  their  period  of  usefulness  and 
should  be  sent  home. 

243 


244     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

Thrice  weekly  a  train  composed  of  an  as- 
sortment of  ramshackle  and  dilapidated  coach- 
es, called  by  courtesy  the  Orient  Express, 
which  maintained  an  average  speed  of  fifteen 
miles  an  hour,  left  Bucharest  for  Vincovce,  a 
small  junction  town  in  the  Banat,  where  it  was 
supposed  to  make  connections  with  the  south- 
bound Simplon  Express  from  Paris  to  Be'grade 
and  with  the  north-bound  express  from  Bel- 
grade to  Paris.  The  Simplon  Express  likewise 
ran  thrice  weekly,  so,  if  the  connections  were 
missed  at  Vincovce,  the  passengers  were  com- 
pelled to  spend  at  least  two  days  in  a  small 
Hungarian  town  which  was  notorious,  even  in 
that  region,  for  its  discomforts  and  its  dirt. 
All  went  well  with  us,  however,  the  train  at 
one  time  attaining  the  dizzy  speed  of  thirty 
miles  an  hour,  until,  in  a  particularly  desolate 
portion  of  the  great  Hungarian  plain,  we  came 
to  an  abrupt  halt.  When,  after  a  half  hour's 
wait,  I  descended  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the 
delay,  I  found  the  train  crew  surrounded  by  a 
group  of  indignant  and  protesting  passengers. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  I  inquired. 

"The  engineer  claims  that  he  has  run  out  of 
coal,"  some  one  answered.  "But  he  says  that 


MAKING  A  NATION  TO  ORDER     245 

there  is  a  coal  depot  three  or  four  kilometers 
ahead  and  that,  if  each  first-class  passenger  will 
contribute  fifty  francs,  and  each  second-class 
passenger  twenty  francs,  he  figures  that  it  will 
enable  him  to  buy  just  enough  coal  to  reach  Vin- 
covce.  Otherwise,  he  says,  we  will  probably 
miss  both  connections,  which  means  that  we 
must  stay  in  Vincovce  for  forty-eight  hours. 
And  if  you  had  ever  seen  Vincovce  you  would 
understand  that  such  a  prospect  is  anything  but 
alluring." 

While  my  fellow-passengers  were  noisily  de- 
bating the  question  I  strolled  ahead  to  take  a 
look  at  the  engine.  As  I  had  been  led  to  ex- 
pect from  the  stories  I  had  heard  from  the  cou- 
rier officers,  the  tender  contained  an  ample  sup- 
ply of  coal — enough,  it  seemed  to  me,  to  haul 
the  train  to  Trieste. 

"This  is  nothing  but  a  hold-up,"  I  told  the 
assembled  passengers.  "There  is  plenty  of 
coal  in  the  tender.  I  am  as  anxious  to  make 
the  connection  as  any  of  you,  but  I  will  settle 
here  and  raise  bananas,  or  whatever  they  do 
raise  in  the  Banat,  before  I  will  submit  to  this 
highwayman's  demands." 

Seeing  that  his  bluff  had  been  called,  the  en- 


246     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

gineer,  favoring  me  with  a  murderous  glance, 
sullenly  climbed  into  his  cab  and  the  train  start- 
ed, only  to  stop  again,  however,  a  few  miles 
further  on,  this  time,  the  engineer  explained, 
because  the  engine  had  broken  down.  There 
being  no  way  of  disputing  this  statement,  it  be- 
came a  question  of  pay  or  stay — and  we  stayed. 
The  engineer  did  not  get  his  tribute  and  we 
did  not  get  our  train  at  Vincovce,  where  we 
spent  twenty  hot,  hungry  and  extremely  dis- 
agreeable hours  before  the  arrival  of  a  local 
train  bound  for  Semlin,  across  the  Danube  from 
Belgrade.  We  completed  our  journey  to  the 
Jugoslav  capital  in  a  fourth-class  compartment 
into  which  were  already  squeezed  two  Serbian 
soldiers,  eight  peasants,  a  crate  of  live  poultry 
and  a  dog,  to  say  nothing  of  a  multitude  of 
small  and  undesired  occupants  whose  presence 
caused  considerable  annoyance  to  every  one,  in- 
cluding the  dog.  We  were  glad  when  the  train 
arrived  at  Semlin. 

Late  in  the  summer  of  1919,  as  a  result  of 
the  reconstruction  of  the  railway  bridges  which 
had  been  blown  up  by  the  Bulgarians  early  in 
the  war,  through  service  between  Salonika  and 
Belgrade  was  restored.  As  the  journey  con- 


MAKING  A  NATION  TO  ORDER    247 

sumed  from  three  to  five  days,  however,  the 
train  stopping  for  the  night  at  stations  where 
the  hotel  accommodation  was  of  the  most  im- 
possible description,  the  American  and  British 
officials  and  relief-workers  who  were  compelled 
to  make  the  journey  (I  never  heard  of  any  one 
making  it  for  pleasure)  usually  hired  a  freight 
car,  which  they  fitted  up  with  army  cots  and  a 
small  cook-stove,  thus  traveling  in  comparative 
comfort. 

Curiously  enough,  the  only  trains  running  on 
anything  approaching  a  schedule  in  the  Balkans 
were  those  loaded  with  Swiss  goods  and  be- 
longing to  the  Swiss  Government.  In  crossing 
Southern  Hungary  we  passed  at  least  half-a- 
dozen  of  them,  they  being  readily  distinguished 
by  a  Swiss  flag  painted  on  each  car.  Each  train, 
consisting  of  forty  cars,  was  accompanied  by 
a  Swiss  officer  and  twenty  infantrymen — finely 
set-up  fellows  in  feldgrau  with  steel  helmets 
modeled  after  the  German  pattern.  Had  the 
trains  not  been  thus  guarded,  I  was  told,  the 
goods  would  never  have  reached  their  destina- 
tion and  the  cars,  which  are  the  property  of 
the  Swiss  State  Railways,  would  never  have 
been  returned.  It  is  by  such  drastic  methods 


248     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

as  this  that  Switzerland,  though  hard  hit  by  the 
war,  has  kept  the  wheels  of  her  industries  turn- 
ing and  her  currency  from  serious  depreciation. 
I  have  rarely  seen  more  hopeless-looking 
people  than  those  congregated  on  the  platforms 
of  the  little  stations  at  which  we  stopped  in 
Hungary.  The  Rumanian  armies  had  swept 
the  country  clean  of  livestock  and  agricultural 
machinery,  throwing  thousands  of  peasants  out 
of  work,  and,  owing  to  the  appalling  deprecia- 
tion of  the  kroner,  which  was  worth  less  than 
a  twentieth  of  its  normal  value,  great  numbers 
of  people  who,  under  ordinary  conditions, 
would  have  been  described  as  comfortably  well 
off,  found  themselves  with  barely  sufficient  re- 
sources to  keep  themselves  from  want.  To  add 
to  their  discouragement,  the  greatest  uncertain- 
ty prevailed  as  to  Hungary's  future.  In  order 
to  obtain  an  idea  of  just  how  familiar  the  in- 
habitants of  the  rural  districts  were  with  po- 
litical conditions,  I  asked  four  intelligent-look- 
ing men  in  succession  who  was  the  ruler  of 
Hungary  and  what  was  its  present  form  of 
government.  The  first  opined  that  the  Arch- 
duke Joseph  had  been  chosen  king;  another 
ventured  the  belief  that  the  country  was  a  re- 


MAKING  A  NATION  TO  ORDER     249 

public  with  Bela  Kim  as  president;  the  third 
asserted  that  Hungary  had  been  annexed  to 
Rumania ;  while  the  last  man  I  questioned  said 
quite  frankly  that  he  didn't  know  who  was 
running  the  country,  or  what  its  form  of  gov- 
ernment was,  and  that  he  didn't  much  care.  As 
a  result  of  the  decision  of  the  Peace  Confer- 
ence which  awarded  Transylvania  to  Rumania 
and  divided  the  Banat  between  Rumania  and 
Jugoslavia,  Hungary  finds  herself  stripped  of 
virtually  all  her  forests,  all  her  mines,  all  her 
oil  wells,  and  all  of  her  manufactories  save 
those  in  Budapest,  thus  stripping  the  bankrupt 
and  demoralized  nation  of  practically  all  of  her 
resources  save  her  wheat-fields.  I  talked  with 
a  number  of  Americans  and  English  who  were 
conversant  with  Hungary's  internal  condition 
and  they  agreed  that  it  was  doubtful  if  the 
country,  stripped  of  its  richest  territories,  de- 
prived of  most  of  its  resources,  and  hemmed 
in  by  hostile  and  jealous  peoples,  could  long  ex- 
ist as  an  independent  state.  On  several  occa- 
sions I  heard  the  opinion  expressed  that  sooner 
or  later  the  Hungarians,  in  order  to  save  them- 
selves from  complete  ruin,  would  ask  to  be  ad- 
mitted to  the  Jugoslav  Confederation,  thereby 


250     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

obtaining  for  their  products  an  outlet  to  the 
sea.  In  any  event,  the  Hungarians  appear  to 
have  a  more  friendly  feeling  for  their  Jugoslav 
neighbors  than  for  the  Rumanians,  whom  they 
charge  with  a  deliberate  attempt  to  bring  about 
their  economic  ruin. 

In  spite  of  the  prohibitive  cost  of  labor  and 
materials,  we  found  that  the  traces  of  the  Aus- 
trian bombardment  of  Belgrade  in  1914,  which 
did  enormous  damage  to  the  Serbian  capital, 
were  rapidly  being  effaced  and  that  the  city  was 
fast  resuming  its  pre-war  appearance.  The 
place  was  as  busy  as  a  boom  town  in  the  oil 
country.  The  Grand  Hotel,  where  the  food 
was  the  best  and  cheapest  we  found  in  the  Bal- 
kans, was  filled  to  the  doors  with  officers,  poli- 
ticians, members  of  parliament — for  the  Skup- 
shtina  was  in  session — relief  workers,  commer- 
cial travelers  and  concession  seekers,  and  the 
huge  Hotel  Moskowa,  built,  I  believe,  with 
Russian  capital,  was  about  to  reopen.  Archi- 
tecturally, Belgrade  shows  many  traces  of  Mus- 
covite influence,  many  of  the  more  important 
buildings  having  the  ornate  fagades  of  pink, 
green  and  purple  tiles,  the  colored  glass  win- 
dows, and  the  gilded  domes  which  are  so  char- 


MAKING  A  NATION  TO  ORDER     251 

acteristically  Russian.  Though  the  main  thor- 
oughfare of  the  city,  formerly  called  the  Tera- 
sia  but  now  known  as  Milan  Street,  is  admira- 
bly paved  with  wooden  blocks,  the  cobble  pave- 
ments of  the  other  streets  have  remained  un- 
changed since  the  days  of  Turkish  rule,  being 
so  rough  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  drive 
a  motor  car  over  them  without  imminent  dan- 
ger of  breaking  the  springs.  Five  minutes'  walk 
from  the  center  of  the  city,  on  a  promontory 
commanding  a  superb  view  of  the  Danube  and 
its  junction  with  the  Save,  is  a  really  charming 
park  known  as  the  Slopes  of  Dreaming,  where, 
on  fine  evenings,  almost  the  entire  population 
of  the  capital  appears  to  be  promenading,  the 
rather  drab  appearance  of  an  urban  crowd  be- 
ing brightened  by  the  gaily  embroidered  cos- 
tumes of  the  peasants  and  the  silver-trimmed 
uniforms  of  the  Serbian  officers. 

The  palace  known  as  the  Old  Konak,  where 
King  Alexander  and  Queen  Draga  were  assas- 
sinated under  peculiarly  revolting  circumstances 
on  the  night  of  June  n,  1905,  and  from  an 
upper  window  of  which  their  mutilated  bodies 
were  thrown  into  the  garden,  has  been  torn 
down,  presumably  because  of  its  unpleasant  as- 


252     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

sociations  for  the  present  dynasty,  but  only  a 
stone's  throw  away  from  the  tragic  spot  is  be- 
ing erected  a  large  and  ornate  palace  of  gray 
stone,  ornamented  with  numerous  carvings,  as 
a  residence  for  Prince-Regent  Alexander,  who, 
when  I  was  there,  was  occupying  a  modest  one- 
story  building  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street. 
By  far  the  most  interesting  building  in  Bel- 
grade, however,  is  a  low,  tile-roofed,  white- 
walled  wine-shop  at  the  corner  of  Knes  Miha- 
jelowa  Uliza  and  Kolartsch  Uliza,  which  is 
pointed  out  to  visitors  as  "the  Cradle  of  the 
War,"  for  in  the  low-ceilinged  room  on  the  sec- 
ond floor  is  said  to  have  been  hatched  the  plot 
which  resulted  in  the  assasination  of  the  Aus- 
trian archducal  couple  at  Serajevo  in  the  spring 
of  1914  and  thereby  precipitated  Armageddon. 
In  this  conection,  here  is  a  story,  told  me  by 
a  Czechoslovak  who  had  served  as  an  officer  in 
the  Serbian  army  during  the  war,  which  throws 
an  interesting  sidelight  on  the  tragedy  of  Sera- 
jevo. This  officer's  uncle,  a  colonel  in  the  Aus- 
trian army,  had  been,  it  seemed,  equerry  to  the 
Archduke  Ferdinand,  being  in  attendance  on 
the  Archduke  at  the  Imperial  shooting-lodge 
in  Bohemia  when,  early  in  the  spring  of  1914, 


MAKING  A  NATION  TO  ORDER     253 

the  German  Emperor,  accompanied  by  Admiral 
von  Tirpitz,  went  there,  ostensibly  for  the 
shooting.  The  day  after  their  arrival,  accord- 
ing to  my  informant's  story,  the  Emperor  and 
the  Archduke  went  out  with  the  guns,  leaving 
Admiral  von  Tirpitz  at  the  lodge  with  the 
Archduchess.  The  equerry,  who  was  on  duty 
in  an  anteroom,  through  a  partly  opened  door 
overheard  the  Admiral  urging  the  Archduchess 
to  obtain  the  consent  of  her  husband — with 
whom  she  was  known  to  exert  extraordinary 
influence — to  a  union  of  Austria-Hungary  with 
Germany  upon  the  death  of  Francis  Joseph, 
who  was  then  believed  to  be  dying — a  scheme 
which  had  long  been  cherished  by  the  Kaiser 
and  the  Pan-Germans. 

"Never  will  I  lend  my  influence  to  such  a 
plan!"  the  equerry  heard  the  Archduchess  vio- 
lently exclaim.  "Never!  Never!  Never!'* 

At  the  moment  the  Emperor  and  tfre  Arch- 
duke, having  returned  from  their  battue,  en- 
tered the  room,  whereupon  the  Archduchess, 
her  voice  shrill  with  indignation,  poured  out  to 
her  husband  the  story  of  von  Tirpitz's  pro- 
posal. The  Archduke,  always  noted  for  the 
violence  of  his  temper,  promptly  sided  with  his 


254     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

wife,  angrily  accusing  the  Kaiser  of  intriguing 
behind  his  back  against  the  independence  of  Aus- 
tria. Ensued  a  violent  altercation  between  the 
ruler  of  Germany  and  the  Austrian  heir-appar- 
ent, which  ended  in  the  Kaiser  and  his  adviser 
abruptly  terminating  their  visit  and  departing 
the  same  evening  for  Berlin. 

For  the  truth  of  this  story  I  do  not  vouch; 
I  merely  repeat  it  in  the  words  in  which  it 
was  told  to  me  by  an  officer  whose  veracity  I 
have  no  reason  to  question.  There  are  many 
things  which  point  to  its  probability.  Certain 
it  is  that  the  Archduke,  who  was  a  man  of 
strong  character  and  passionately  devoted  to 
the  best  interests  of  the  Dual  Monarchy,  was 
the  greatest  obstacle  to  the  Kaiser's  scheme  for 
the  union  of  the  two  empires  under  his  rule, 
a  scheme  which,  could  it  have  been  realized, 
would  have  given  Germany  that  highroad  to 
the  East  and  that  outlet  to  the  Warm  Water 
of  which  the  Pan-Germans  had  long  dreamed. 
The  assassination  of  the  Archduke  a  few  weeks 
later  not  only  removed  the  greatest  stumbling- 
block  to  these  schemes  of  Teutonic  expansion, 
but  it  further  served  the  Kaiser's  purpose  by 
forcing  Austria  into  war  with  Serbia,  thereby 


MAKING  A  NATION  TO  ORDER     255 

making  Austria  responsible,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  for  launching  the  conflict  which  the  Kai- 
ser had  planned. 

There  has  never  been  any  conclusive  proof, 
remember,  that  the  Serbs  were  responsible  for 
Ferdinand's  assasination.  Not  that  there  is 
anything  in  their  history  which  would  lead  one 
to  believe  that  they  would  balk  at  that  method 
of  removing  an  enemy,  but,  regarded  from  a 
political  standpoint,  it  would  have  been  the 
most  unintelligent  and  short-sighted  thing  they 
could  possibly  have  done.  Nor  are  the  Serbs 
and  the  Pan-Germans  the  only  ones  to  whom 
the  crime  might  logically  be  traced.  Fer- 
dinand, remember,  had  many  enemeis  within 
the  borders  of  his  own  country.  The  Austrian 
anti-clericals  hated  and  distrusted  him  because 
he  surrounded  himself  by  Jesuit  advisers  and 
because  he  was  believed  to  be  unduly  under  the 
influence  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  He  was 
equally  unpopular  with  a  large  and  powerful 
element  of  the  Hungarians,  who  foresaw  a  se- 
rious diminution  of  their  influence  in  the  af- 
fairs of  the  monarchy  should  the  Archduke  suc- 
ceed in  realizing  his  dream  of  a  Triple  King- 


256     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

dom  composed  of  Austria,  Hungary  and  the 
Southern  Slavs. 

Strange  indeed  are  the  changes  which  have 
been  brought  about  by  the  greatest  conflict.  Fer- 
dinand, descendant  of  a  long  line  of  princes, 
kings  and  emperors,  has  passed  round  that  dark 
corner  whence  no  man  returns,  but  his  ambi- 
tious dreams  of  a  triple  kingdom  which  would 
include  the  Southern  Slavs  have  survived  him, 
though  in  a  somewhat  modified  form.  But  he 
who  sits  on  the  throne  of  the  new  kingdom,  and 
who  rules  to-day  over  a  great  portion  of  the 
former  dominions  of  the  Hapsburgs,  instead 
of  being  a  scion  of  the  Imperial  House  of  Aus- 
tria, is  the  great-grandson  of  a  Serbian  black- 
smith. 

Owing  to  the  ill-health  and  advanced  age  of 
King  Peter  of  Serbia,  his  second  son,  Alexan- 
der, is  Prince-Regent  of  the  Kingdom  of  the 
Serbs,  Croats  and  Slovenes.  Prince  Alexan- 
der, a  slender,  dark-complexioned  man  with 
characteristically  Slav  features,  was  educated 
in  Vienna  and  is  said  to  be  an  excellent  soldier. 
He  is  extremely  democratic,  simple  in  manner, 
a  student,  a  hard  worker,  and  devoted  to  the 
best  interests  of  his  people.  Though  he  is  an 


MAKING  A  NATION  TO  ORDER    257 

accomplished  horseman,  a  daring,  even  reck- 
less motorist,  and  an  excellent  shot,  he  is  prob- 
ably the  loneliest  man  in  his  kingdom,  for  he 
has  no  close  associates  of  his  own  age,  being 
surrounded  by  elderly  and  serious-minded 
advisers;  his  aged  father  is  in  a  sanitarium,  his 
scapegrace  elder  brother  lives  in  Paris,  and  his 
sister,  a  Russian  grand  duchess,  makes  her 
home  on  the  Riviera.  Though  old  beyond  his 
years  and  visibly  burdened  by  the  responsibili- 
ties of  his  difficult  position,  he  possesses  a  pe- 
culiarly winning  manner  and  is  immensely 
popular  with  his  soldiers,  whose  hardships  he 
shared  throughout  the  war.  Though  he  enjoys 
no  great  measure  of  popularity  among  his  new 
Croat  and  Slovene  subjects,  who  might  be  ex- 
pected to  regard  any  Serb  ruler  with  a  certain 
degree  of  jealousy  and  suspicion,  he  has  un- 
questionably won  their  profound  respect.  It 
is  a  difficult  and  trying  position  which  this 
young  man  occupies,  and  it  is  not  made  any 
easier  for  him,  I  imagine,  by  the  knowledge 
that,  should  he  make  a  false  step,  should  he 
arouse  the  enmity  of  certain  of  the  powerful 
factions  which  surround  him,  the  fate  of  his 


258     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

predecessor  and  namesake,   King  Alexander, 
might  quite  conceivably  befall  him. 

I  have  been  asked  if,  in  my  opinion,  the 
peoples  composing  the  new  state  of  Jugoslavia 
will  stick  together.  If  there  could  be  effected 
a  confederation,  modeled  on  that  of  Switzer- 
land or  the  United  States,  in  which  the  com- 
ponent states  would  have  equal  representation, 
with  the  executive  power  vested  in  a  Federal 
Council,  as  in  Switzerland,  then  I  believe  that 
Jugoslavia  would  develop  into  a  stable  and 
prosperous  nation.  But  I  very  much  doubt  if 
the  Croats,  the  Slovenes,  the  Bosnians  and  the 
Montenegrins  will  willingly  consent  to  a  per- 
manent arrangement  whereby  the  new  nation  is 
placed  under  a  Serbian  dynasty,  no  matter  how 
complete  are  the  safeguards  afforded  by  the 
constitution  or  how  conscientious  and  fair- 
minded  the  sovereign  himself  may  be.  No  one 
questions  the  ability  or  the  honesty  of  purpose 
of  Prince  Alexander,  but  the  non-Serb  elements 
feel,  and  not  wholly  without  justification,  that 
a  Serbian  prince  on  the  throne  means  Serbian 
politicians  in  places  of  authority,  thereby  giv- 
ing Serbia  a  disproportionate  share  of  authority 


MAKING  A  NATION  TO  ORDER     259 

in  the  government  of  Jugoslavia,  as  Prussia  had 
in  the  government  of  the  German  Empire. 

Already  there  have  been  manifestations  of 
friction  between  the  Serbs  and  the  Croats  and 
between  the  Serbs  and  the  Slovenes,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  open  hostility  which  exists  be- 
tween the  Serbs  and  certain  Montenegrin  fac- 
tions, to  which  I  have  alluded  in  a  preceding 
chapter.  It  should  be  remembered  that  the 
Croats  and  Slovenes,  though  members  of  the 
great  family  of  Southern  Slavs,  have  by  no 
means  as  much  in  common  with  their  Serb  kins- 
men as  is  generally  believed.  Croatia  and 
Slovenia  have  both  educated  and  wealthy 
classes.  Serbia,  on  the  contrary,  has  a  very 
small  educated  class  and  practically  no  wealthy 
class,  it  being  said  that  there  is  not  a  millionaire 
in  the  country.  Slovenia  and  Croatia  each  have 
their  aristocracies,  with  titles  and  estates  and 
traditions;  Serbia's  population  is  wholly  com- 
posed of  peasants,  or  of  business  and  profes- 
sional men  who  come  from  peasant  stock.  As 
a  result  of  the  large  sums  which  were  spent  on 
public  instruction  in  Croatia  and  Slovenia  un- 
der Austrian  rule,  only  a  comparatively  small 
proportion  of  the  population  is  illiterate.  But 


260    NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

in  Serbia  public  education  is  still  in  a  regrettably 
backward  state,  the  latest  figures  available 
showing  that  less  than  seventeen  per  cent,  of 
the  population  can  read  and  write,  a  condition 
which,  I  doubt  not,  will  rapidly  improve  with 
the  reestablishment  of  peace.  Laibach  (now 
known  as  Lubiana),  the  chief  city  of  Croatia, 
Agram,  in  Slovenia,  and  Serajevo,  the  capital 
of  Bosnia,  have  long  been  known  as  education 
centers,  possessing  a  culture  and  educational 
facilities  of  which  far  larger  cities  would  have 
reason  to  be  proud.  But  Belgrade,  having  been, 
as  it  were,  on  the  frontier  of  European  civiliza- 
tion, has  been  compelled  to  concentrate  its 
energies  and  its  resources  on  commerce  and  the 
national  defense.  The  attitude  of  the  people 
of  Agram  toward  the  less  sophisticated  and 
cultured  Serbs  might  be  compared  to  that  of  an 
educated  Bostonian  toward  an  Arizona  ranch- 
man— a  worthy,  industrious  fellow,  no  doubt, 
but  rather  lacking  in  culture  and  refinement. 
The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  the  Croats  and 
the  Slovenes,  though  only  too  glad  to  escape 
the  Allies'  wrath  by  claiming  kinship  with  the 
Serbs  and  taking  refuge  under  the  banner  of 
Jugoslavia,  at  heart  consider  themselves  im- 


MAKING  A  NATION  TO  ORDER     261 

measurably  superior  to  their  southern  kinsmen, 
whose  political  dictation,  now  that  the  storm 
has  passed,  they  are  beginning  to  resent. 

The  first  impression  which  the  Serb  makes 
upon  a  stranger  is  rarely  &  favorable  one.  As 
an  American  diplomat,  who  is  a  sincere  friend 
of  Serbia,  remarked  to  me,  uThe  Serb  has 
neither  manner  nor  manners.  The  visitor  al- 
ways sees  his  worst  side  while  his  best  side  re- 
mains hidden.  He  never  puts  his  best  foot  for- 
ward.'7 

A  certain  sullen  defiance  of  public  opinion  is, 
it  has  sometimes  seemed  to  me,  a  characteristic 
of  the  Serb.  He  gives  one  the  impression  of 
constantly  carrying  a  chip  on  his  shoulder  and 
daring  any  one  to  knock  it  off.  He  is  always 
eager  for  an  argument,  but,  like  so  many  argu- 
mentative persons,  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
convince  him  that  he  is  in  the  wrong.  The 
slightest  opposition  often  drives  him  into  an 
almost  childlike  rage  and  if  things  go  against 
him  he  is  apt  to  charge  his  opponent  with  in- 
sincerity or  prejudice.  He  can  see  things  only 
one  way,  his  way  and  he  resents  criticism  so  vio- 
lently that  it  is  seldom  wise  to  argue  with  him. 

Though  the  Serb,  when  afforded  opportuni- 


262     NEW  FRONTIERS  OF  FREEDOM 

ties  for  education,  usually  shows  great  brilliancy 
as  a  student  and  often  climbs  high  in  his  chosen 
profession,  he  all  too  frequently  lacks  the 
mental  poise  and  the  power  of  restraining  his 
passions  which  are  the  heritage  of  those  peoples 
who  have  been  educated  for  generations. 

In  Serbia,  as  in  the  other  Balkan  states,  it 
is  the  peasants  who  form  the  most  substantial 
and  likeable  element  of  the  population.  The 
Serbian  peasant  is  simple,  kindly,  honest,  and 
hospitable,  and,  though  he  could  not  be 
described  with  strict  truthfulness  as  a  hard 
worker,  his  wife  invariably  is.  Although,  like 
most  primitive  peoples,  he  is  suspicious  of 
strangers,  once  he  is  assured  that  they  are 
friends  there  is  no  sacrifice  that  he  will  not 
make  for  their  comfort,  going  cold  and  hungry, 
if  necessary,  in  order  that  they  may  have  his 
blanket  and  his  food.  He  is  one  of  the  very 
best  soldiers  in  Europe,  somewhat  careless  in 
dress,  drill  and  discipline,  perhaps,  but  a  good 
shot,  a  tireless  marcher,  inured  to  every  form 
of  hardship,  and  invariably  cheerful  and  un- 
complaining. Perhaps  it  is  his  instinctive  love 
of  soldiering  which  makes  him  so  reluctant  to 
lay  down  the  rifle  and  take  up  the  hoe.  He  has 


MAKING  A  NATION  TO  ORDER    263 

fought  three  victorious  wars  in  rapid  succession 
and  he  has  come  to  believe  that  his  metier  is 
fighting.  In  this  he  is  tacitly  encouraged  by 
France,  who  sees  in  an  armed  and  ready-to- 
fight-at-the-drop-of-the-hat  Jugoslavia  a  coun- 
terbalance to  Italian  ambitions  in  the  Balkans. 
Though  there  are  irresponsible  elements  in 
both  Jugoslavia  and  Italy  who  talk  lightly  of 
war,  I  am  convinced  that  the  great  bulk  of  the 
population  in  both  countries  realize  that  such 
a  war  would  be  the  height  of  shortsightedness 
and  folly.  Throughout  the  Fiume  and  Dalma- 
tian crises  precipitated  by  d'Annunzio,  Jugo- 
slavia behaved  with  exemplary  patience,  dignity 
and  discretion.  Let  her  future  foreign  rela- 
tions continue  to  be  characterized  by  such  self- 
control  ;  let  her  turn  her  energies  to  developing 
the  vast  territories  to  which  she  has  so  un- 
expectedly fallen  heir;  let  her  take  immediate 
steps  toward  inaugurating  systems  of  transpor- 
tation, public  instruction  and  sanitation;  let  her 
waste  no  time  in  ridding  herself  of  her  jingo 
politicians  and  officers — let  Jugoslavia  do  these 
things  and  her  future  will  take  care  of  itself. 
She  is  a  young  country,  remember.  Let  us  be 
charitable  in  judging  her. 


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